


Solitude: Before I See

by GuileandGall



Series: Violaceous Fury [1]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Sexual Content, Stereotypes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2018-01-08 02:08:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 35
Words: 206,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuileandGall/pseuds/GuileandGall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an interesting night replete with multiple near death experiences, Furia finally comes to the realization that just trying to get by might not be cutting it. Despite her own reluctance about her place in this type of life, the young woman decides to approach this like anything else she has ever done, and she throws herself into her work as she learns the ropes and moves up the ranks. </p>
<p>Rated: Explicit for later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blind

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: This piece will side toward a more serious storytelling approach. There may still be zany moments of fun, but I will not guarantee that this piece will follow the exact same type of experience as the games offer. 
> 
> Lots and lots of love to the fabulous Chyrstis who challenged me to first write this boss. Both she and SaintsEmpressJae have offered me oodles of support and encouragement for which I am incredibly grateful. Kisses on your pink parts, dearhearts--you are awesome. Thanks to Chy for the sharp eye, too. And special thanks to Tanae for the inspiration for the title.
> 
> Disclaimer: Saint's Row belongs to THQ, Volition, and Deep Silver. I'm only playing with their universe. I do not own the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. I do it for the love of the game, the world, and the characters; and because they stuck with me long after I turned the game off (and back on, and off, ad infinitum).
> 
> Chapter Summary: After losing her horrible moonlighting job Furia's long walk home takes a dark turn, which leads her to a decision she never thought she would make. Even her younger brother, Memo, who has been flagging purple for a few months is surprised to find out that his very straight-laced older sister was now among the canonized Saints. Troy escorts the interesting new recruit on the final step of her induction into the Third Street Saints and finds out there is a lot more to the young Latina than could imagine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After losing her horrible moonlighting job Furia’s long walk home takes a dark turn, which leads her to a decision she never thought she would make. Even her younger brother, Memo, who has been flagging purple for a few months is surprised to find out that his very straight-laced older sister was now among the canonized Saints. Troy escorts the interesting new recruit on the final step of her induction into the Third Street Saints and finds out there is a lot more to the young Latina than could imagine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This piece will side toward a more serious storytelling approach. There may still be zany moments of fun, but I will not guarantee that this piece will follow the exact same type of experience as the games offer. 
> 
> Lots and lots of love to the fabulous Chyrstis who challenged me to first write this boss. Both she and SaintsEmpressJae have offered me oodles of support and encouragement for which I am incredibly grateful. Kisses on your pink parts, dearhearts—you are awesome. Thanks to Chy for the sharp eye, too.
> 
> Disclaimer: Saint’s Row belongs to THQ, Volition, and Deep Silver. I’m only playing with their universe. I do not own the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. I do it for the love of the game, the world, and the characters; and because they stuck with me long after I turned the game off (and back on, and off, ad infinitum).

 

 

  **Solitude: Before I See**

**01 Blind**

**-1-**

Loud music pulsed with bass in the dim, reddish light of the club. Of course, a lot of the girls preferred that type of music especially for the type of dancing done there, or so they said. In reality, the dancers gave little to no input into the style of music played; it was chosen mainly to placate the club’s clientele. Two of the four women behind the bar pulled double duty—Alla and Mindy wanted to dance, but Claudius would only let them do so in the slower hours. Ginger, a tall dark-skinned Amazon, and Furia, a lithe Latina with a dancer’s build, were completely content slinging drinks from behind the relative protection of the thick pine bar. Neither of them wanted to dance, nor did they succumb to the manager’s repeated entreaties to take to the stage.

The high-pitched squeak caused Furia and Ginger to trade a glance. Almost immediately they counted to three and shot— _paper covers rock_. Ginger grinned victoriously. “Damn! Again? How the hell do you do that?” Furia asked as she slid behind the taller woman.

“Bitch, I told you I’m psychic.”

“It’s pronounced psychotic, mujer,” Furia corrected, casting a wide grin at her friend with the cherry red hair. When Furia ducked into the storage area behind the bar back, their suspicions were confirmed. Alla, a tiny little girl with a thick Russian accent and nearly translucent skin, was scrubbing at her bare midriff with a grayed towel.

“Keg?” Furia asked.

Alla merely nodded. “Claudi told me it needed to be changed.”

Furia nodded and slipped into the walk-in refrigerator. “More like he wanted a reason to be able to keep from having to live up to his word,” the five-foot-nine bartender muttered to herself.

While not particularly complicated, slipping up when tapping a keg could leave a person smelling like a brewery.  Everyone who worked in the club knew Alla could not get the hang of it. Every time, she tried she wound up drenched and spent the rest of her shift reeking of stale beer.

“Did you bring a change of clothes?” Furia asked as she exited the cooler. After pushing the heavy door closed, she leaned against it.

“Da. Yes,” the girl said, quickly correcting herself. She spoke fairly solid English, but since Claudius spoke Russian in the club Alla tended to move between the languages easily.

“Go. Change. I’ll cover for you,” Furia said tiredly, then trudged back out.

“What the hell took so long?”

“She got doused.”

Ginger shook her head. “No surprise there.”

Both of them ignored the impatient man tapping his palm on the bar. “¡Ay, Mamí! Who’s a guy got to kill to get a drink?”

Furia sighed and slid past the redhead, assuming she would just lose another shoot if she called _Rock Paper Scissors_. “What can I get you?” she called over the music. Furia laid a white cocktail napkin with a red striped and outlined letter “C” in front of him.

“A shot of whatever you’re drinking,” the man in the cheap suit drawled.

An old, tired trick, it played out at least a hundred times a night, but Furia did not drink at work. Only a few of the women who worked at the Candy Shop did. The raven-haired Latina responded as she usually did—the hollow crack resounded off the wood as she slammed an empty shot glass on the bar upside down.

“C’mon, mamí. Don’t make me beg.”

“What do _you_ want?” Furia repeated, undeterred and carefully annunciating every word.

“Have a drink with me. I could change your life,” the balding man suggested as he grabbed her hand a little roughly.

The groping was nothing new. In a strip club, patrons tended to assume any female in the place was fair game, even though this club ran under a fairly strict no touching rule, at least out on the floor.

“Let go.” Her voice remained calm, her tone cool.

“Do I have to get on my knees?” he grinned, then flicked his tongue out at her in a suggestive manner.

“Danny!” Furia called without taking her eyes off him.

The bouncer at the end of the bar nodded and started fighting his way through the thick Friday night crowd. When the patron yanked her hand, Furia mirrored the action and pulled the man toward the bar forcefully.

“Cunt!” he yelled when his ribs slammed into the metal bar.

Furia stared into his eyes before she locked his wrist, which caused him to yelp loudly. He proceeded to call her every name in the book, and after each comment she applied just a bit more pressure then would ease up. She really wanted to just press that much harder, that much farther and see how he reacted to the sickening crack, but she resisted the urge. Everything about the job and the majority of the patrons pissed her off, but she knew actually breaking that jerk’s wrist would garner her an assault charge even though he grabbed her first.

“Hands off the girls, douchebag,” Danny growled, bouncing the guy’s forehead off the bar. With a wink at Furia, he manhandled him into the clutches of two of the club’s security staff, who came over to usher him toward the door.

Danny leaned on the bar as Furia filled a glass with ice and root beer. “You know that’s the big man’s cousin.”

“And?” she replied, setting the drink between them and leaning on the bar.

“Shit, girl! You’re going to make me train a new bartender, aren’t cha?” he asked with a laugh.

“I figure he’s already on the verge with me refusing to dance anyway.”

“Why don’t you? You could make bank.” Danny let his eyes travel her curves, at least the ones most prominent from his perspective.

Furia cocked her eyebrow at him. “That,” she said with a tilt of her head, “is not the reason my mother put me in dance classes.”

“It’s good money. And everyone could use a little more scratch, especially you.”

The bouncer was right—the money was the only reason she tended bar. Her part-time gig keeping the books for a dry cleaner could not cover the bills. With her sister about to start art classes again, Furia knew she would be eating rice and beans for the next month, if she was lucky. As much as she needed this job, all her jobs, there were lines she just would not cross even if that class and its fees were an expense her meager salaries barely covered. Necessity lingered in the back of her mind, pushing her to deal with the grabby hands, the leering, and Claudius’ regular attempts to get her gyrating on the stage in a G-string.

“I’ll stick to mixing drinks, thanks.”

Danny shrugged a shoulder at her, letting the topic drop. The sound of the cane tapping on the cheap linoleum caused Furia to roll her eyes. Claudius hurried over to the bar and glared up at her. Furia noticed Alla slink around the bar behind the manager, before she turned her blank gaze on him.

“Since when are you in charge?” Claudius asked thickly.

Furia said nothing, but she stood up straighter and crossed her arms over her chest.

He smacked the metal tube at the edge of the bar, causing it to ring loudly. “Who do you think you are? You give my staff extra breaks. You undermine my authority. And you assault my customers?”

“Actually, he assaulted me, if you want to be specific.”

“This is a strip club.”

“This place has a no-touching rule. Plus, I’m a bartender, not a dancer,” Furia said. She may not want the job, but she was not about to disrespect any of the women trying to make a living in that manner.

“Not anymore. You want to shake your ass? You have a job. Otherwise—”

“I’m out!” she announced before he even finished his threat.

Ginger slung drinks, but watched the entire thing out of the corner of her eye, or so Furia guessed when her friend tossed her the black hoodie she always wore to and from her shifts. “See ya later, Sweetie,” the tall black woman called putting her hand next to her ear like a phone and mouthing the words: _call me_.

Furia winked at her friend and climbed over the bar, hopped into the crowd, and made her way to the exit of the club before the short, rotund man could come up with a response. People were packed into the club thickly because of the drink specials and the game being broadcast so she had to squeeze through a crowd. At the door, some guy grabbed her arm as she tried to exit, Danny yanked him off her and pushed him up against the wall, smooshing his face against the damp bricks and mortar.

“If you need anything, you let me know,” he ordered in his deep voice, which strained for a moment as he wrestled with the drunk.

Furia shrugged, her eyes moving from him to the incoherent grumble of the drunk. “I was getting tired of listening to the same music every night anyway.”

Danny laughed and shook his head. “Take it easy.”

She zipped up her sweatshirt and pulled the hood over her smoothly tied back hair. “You know me,” she replied playfully as she took a slow exaggerated step, adding a little bounce to it.

The guy he was leaning against started to more vocally protest, and Danny turned his full attention to the idiot as Furia jogged up to the corner. Checking her watch under the street lamp, she knew it was too late to catch a bus. But since she walked out before the end of her shift, she also did not have the cash for a cab, not that she could have spared it. Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she resigned herself to the long walk home through some of the toughest neighborhoods in Stilwater.

Her fingers ran over the smooth case of her phone in her pocket.  She could call her brother or her uncle. Both of which would want to know why she was in this neighborhood. Her cousin Miguel would not be so curious, but his girlfriend Jen had a big mouth, and since she would be driving there was no chance she could be trusted to not let this slip. With a long deep breath Furia decided just to walk and attempt to be as unnoticeable as possible, which was pretty easy in her oversized hoodie and baggy jeans.

The first half of the trek proceeded uneventfully; but twenty or so blocks from home she turned the wrong corner. The sight of the three guys in yellow were enough to prompt her and two of the hookers on that corner to cross the street just as a trio in blue strolled up. Furia knew the colors, knew the signs, and found herself wishing she had just sucked it up. Listening to Memo bitch for the entire fifteen-minute ride back to her place suddenly looked really good. She realized too late that she was one of the few people not smart enough or fast enough to have run when the Rollerz had shown up. Then, as these things usually happened, the situation worsened.

The big engine purred deeply; it was a sound she could appreciate, though the red paint job left her searching for any escape route. When the gun fire started her stomach lurched and she darted toward a small parking areas suddenly focused on just finding a place to hide. The out of control convertible barely missed crushing her. It all moved so quickly; she did not even have the chance to curse her stubbornness before the lone Carnales survivor fell to the spray of bullets from an assault rifle held by one of the blue-clad Rollerz. Another shot rang out as she scurried toward the brick wall. The Vice King, his bright yellow t-shirt sprayed with a fine red mist, walked over to the man still crawling on the pavement. The Latino banger looked right at her—stared at Furia as if she could help him. Her entire body jolted with another loud shot. His eyes remained on her, but there was nothing there. Even so she couldn’t tear her gaze away.

That confrontation ended with the VKs on top.

Furia pressed herself against the brick, holding her breath. _Please don_ _’_ _t turn around_ , she thought over and over. It really was too much to hope for. Her eyes locked on the gun rather than the man holding it. Even as he walked toward her, she tried to scramble backwards. Her ragged inhale rang in her ears when the gun raised.

“Wrong place. Wrong time, dawg!” the gangster in yellow drawled. He seemed to move toward her in slow motion. Every step echoing in her head.

Her mind drew everything out until those few seconds felt like minutes, like her brain was trying to do that whole life flashing before your eyes thing, but the DVD seemed to be scratched so it just idled along frame by frame. It focused solely on that moment. There was no recollection of her parents, her childhood, or formative moments in her life. Just that gun rising inch by inch by inch.

Somehow, Furia had managed to live on the Row for twenty-one years and never once found herself staring down the barrel of a gun, until that moment. Furia knew she had been lucky. She knew just how rare that was. Her hand instinctively wrapped around the cross which hung around her neck and she started mumbling the prayer she had memorized as a child. Even if she had not recited it in years, the words were still on the tip of her tongue as she screwed her eyes shut with the realization that she preferred not to see it coming.

_It should have been louder_ , she thought when the shot resounded off the brick and asphalt. Exhaling the ragged breath she held, informed Furia she was, in fact, not dead. Her bright hazel eyes opened just as a man crouched near her. Out of instinct she pulled away, scrambling along the wall.

“You okay, playa?” he asked in a deep, reverberating voice. She just shook her head. When he offered her a hand though, she took it and he helped her up. They did at least get around the corner before the car finally exploded.

_Damn shame, that_ , Furia thought. _The engine sounded like a work of art, even if it was crammed into such a poor example of machinery._

The man who introduced himself as Julius helped her up the street, talking the entire time about the Row, the gangs, the violence. Troy, the one who shot the guy that drew down on her, seemed extremely anxious. His eyes were constantly moving and he did not put his gun away, though once they were a few blocks from the shootout he no longer waved it around. Julius continued talking the entire time without more than a glance or two toward the armed man. After another block, the three of them parted ways. That’s when it happened. The older man in the leather jacket extended her an invitation, which played through her head all the way home.

Furia limped back to her flat as quickly as she could manage with the aches. She wondered if that same speech turned her little brother’s head. Or maybe they recruited him after a similar incident—some Saint intervening at the last moment, saving his life, then asking him to step up for Stilwater. Memo was nineteen and she wanted anything else for him than the type of death she witnessed and almost experienced that night. When she first noticed his new affinity for purple, it floored her. Now, she thought she might understand why, because her own experience left her considering taking the invitation, too.

 

**-2-**

The graveyard behind the decrepit Third Street Church bustled with activity. People perched on the steps chatted and laughed with one another. Music blared out of the trunk of someone’s Compton convertible.  Columns of sunshine streamed through breaks in the clouds making the temperate day brighter and making it feel warmer than the temperature might suggest. All combined, it made for a surprisingly downright nice day.

Guillermo “Memo” Guerrero pushed the sleeves on his black, denim jacket up toward his elbows, he left it on to guarantee no one could outright eyeball the piece he carried. Upon entering the courtyard, the imposing man took note of it all, not only of the people dancing—on the steps, in the grass, and even someone’s girlfriend twirling away on the hood of a supped up muscle car—but he also noticed who stood around and who seemed to be paying attention.

Scrutiny rewarded him with shreds of information. A few of the guys looked a little worse for wear. There were four black eyes, half a dozen split lips, and one guy might have a broken nose. When he paired those injuries with the relatively fresh blood stains on the concrete he winced. _Fuck, I missed another canonization_.

“Hey, cuz!” Miguel called as Memo approached the tree.

The six-foot-four-inch Latino nodded at the older man in the wheelchair. “¿Qué tal, guey?” Memo greeted taking his cousin’s hand and leaning toward him landing a few powerful pats on his shoulder blade.

Miguel glanced up and smiled widely. Something in his eyes made the tall man reply in kind. “Damn carnal, I can’t believe you missed _this_.”

“We get some new blood?”

The paralyzed mechanic laughed. “Did we get new blood?” He peeked up at his girlfriend, laughing. “Look at this guaje.[1] Seriously? Yeah, Saints got some new fucking blood all right. Hey Mikey D,” Miguel yelled, eying Memo in a way that set the big man on edge.

Something was up. His cousin was way too revved up and being far too coy. Memo offered a cursory nod to the thin country boy who joined them.

“Tell my perpetually late cousin here, what happened.”

Mikey looked at both of them curiously, but complied. Memo studied the kid’s face—black eye, split lip, a sweet cut along his cheekbone, but there was not even a scratch on his knuckles. Mikey’s description of events was scant at best. Whoever the new guy was, he pulled a Gat on them all and beat the hell out of five guys and jacked up Thundercat’s nose in the process.

Miguel took a playful slap at Mikey’s leg and prompted, “Tell him the best part. I swear Memo, you’re going to love this.”

Mikey sighed heavily and ran his hand through his short hair. His embarrassment bubbled to the surface as his cheeks reddened. “It was some chick.”

“What the hell?” Memo replied, before engaging his inner censor. He looked Mikey over with a sharper eye and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Some _girl_ did that to your face?”

Mikey glared at him and pulled away from the hand on his shoulder.

“This was not some piece, like the tricks. She was … I don’t fucking know, but I …” He shook his head, chewing at his bottom lip. “Shit, you remember how long you and I went at it before you knocked me out cold. I don’t fuck around. But this bitch was a Buffy. Knocked me out cold in ten shots.”

“Less,” Miguel corrected. “And don’t call her a bitch.”

The last comment drew Memo’s interest. “Who the fuck is she?”

“Man, I’m telling you, I wish you would have been here. You’ve been waiting for a chance like this for years. I swear, cuz.”

“Would you stop jerking me around Miguel, and tell me who the hell it is?”

“My cousin,” Miguel said proudly, wearing a huge grin.

Memo narrowed his dark eyes on the slightly older man. “Your cousin?” The little flick of Miguel’s eyebrows made Memo’s mind fly right to an option he should not be entertaining. “No.”

Miguel nodded.

“No _fucking_ way.”

Another nod.

“She would kick my ass if she knew I was flagged up.”

“Oh please, man, she knew before you were canonized,” Miguel told him. “Even if you wear as little purple as possible. Fuck, you could go rolling around unflagged, and she would still know. She always finds out the shit you try to keep from her. It’s her job man.”

Memo wrapped his meaty paw around Mikey D’s collar, still not sure he believed his cousin. “What was her name?”

“Who? The chica who beat your boy’s ass?” a nasally voice asked from a few steps behind them.

Memo did not look at her; he just stared at Mikey, who looked a little scared. Memo preferred that kind of reaction. A large man, he prided himself on the few things he had a knack for—scaring people and beating them to a bloody, quivering pulp.

Peaches strutted toward them and ruffled Mikey’s hair before she finally caught Memo’s eye. “So he’s her baby brother?” she asked Miguel, poking a thumb at Memo. She shifted her weight and looked at the tallest of the bunch. “She said her name was Furia.”

Memo’s eyes went to Mikey’s. The guy nodded furiously in agreement. The heat in Memo’s blood prickled at his skin. After a moment, he loosened his grip on the battered boy and leaned over his cousin trying to control the growl, tingeing his voice. “You let her …”

“Don’t get all alpha on me, Guillermo. Nobody _lets_ Furia do anything. Shit, she would have beat me as bad as them or worse if I’d have tried to stop her again.”

“Again?”

“I tried to talk her out of it. But she said it had to be done, man.” Miguel tipped his head to the side, which prompted Memo to stand and walk with him a little further away. When they stopped, Memo crouched beside his cousin’s chair. “You remember I told you she’d been coming to see me. Doing a little work here and there. She’s been boosting for me. And don’t look at me in that fucking tone of voice, cabrón.”

“What are you talking about? Why would she be running for you?” Memo asked. He rubbed at his forehead. _Why didn_ _’_ _t she tell me? Why didn_ _’_ _t she come to me if she needed help?_ Part of him worried about what might be going on. He wanted to know what she might be keeping from him.

Miguel leaned on the arm of his chair, gauging his cousin as he spoke in a quiet voice. “Whenever shit gets tight, she does a little work for me. Like when the twins were both playing ball at the same time.” He shrugged and shook his head. “Look, man, she just said some shit’s gotta change. Sounded kinda like you when I tried to talk you out of it.”

As his cousin started to back away from him, Memo pulled him back. “What’d she say that convinced you? Because I know you wouldn’t have just stepped aside and let her do this without calling me, unless she said something to sway you?”

Shaking his head, Miguel looked Memo in the eye. “She wants to make sure the little ones don’t fall into all this,” he said with a little gesture that suggested everything around them. “Furia said she wants to get to a point where life is more than G-strings and boosting cars.”

The admission shocked Memo. Miguel did not seem too pleased to have been informed of it either. Furia’s brother shot to his feet and all but yelled, “What?”

“Calm the fuck down, guey.”

“She’s been…” Memo closed his eyes and ran his big hand across his forehead. “Please, fucking tell me, my sister has _not_ been …,” he said slowly and quietly.

“I’m not going to tell you shit. Those were her words not mine. And no, I didn’t ask for clarification. I really don’t want to think about it truth be told. Because if I think about it then I’m going to have to get you and a couple of the boys to break some bones and probably have to make arrangements to crush a few cars.”

Memo snorted softly. “Símon.[2] I hear ya, cuz.”

“Look, she might have found her niche. The way she took those boys down. Fuck, she did it faster than you.”

“She still here?”

“You see her?” Miguel said, stating the obvious. After a moment, he added, “No, Julius sent her out with Troy for her welcoming gift.”

The younger man slipped his hand through longish hair. _At least she_ _’_ _s not with Johnny,_ he thought. He knew his sister could hold her own, but he was not sure she could handle Johnny Gat’s brand of action. At least with Troy, Memo figured she would be set, she’d be safe. He preferred Troy’s more thought out approach to Johnny’s kick in the front door choices.

Guillermo’s eyes swept the courtyard again. The smile on his lips bloomed with pride as he took special note of the evidence of his sister’s prowess. One thing he knew for certain, Furia would not end up some gangsta moll. She’d either earn her stripes or stay a soldier. Memo refused to let any of these motherfuckers try to stake a claim to his older sister; he cracked his knuckles loudly and stretched his neck.

 

**-3-**

Troy Bradshaw ambled a few steps behind her. Her walk possessed a smooth, yet metronomic quality and he tried not to give too much attention to it. As they approached Friendly Fire, he had taken a few moments to appreciate the fluid motion of her body, which he quickly regretted. She distracted him far too easily and in the worst ways; regrettably Furia did not take her time choosing a weapon. The young woman merely asked Troy his opinion then held a few pistols before she decided on a .45 with a good-sized clip.

After they left the store, he could see the difference in the way she moved as she tried to compensate for the new weight on her hips. The shocked expression she wore the night before did not show up once, though he had not expected her to appear at the church at all. He certainly could not have anticipated the way she handled her canonization. The memory of it made him shake his head. She certainly was not like the other ladies who usually hung around the church, of course, that had been abundantly clear last night when Julius tried to recruit her.

Julius Little was calculating, and the Saints did need numbers, but he typically did not actively recruit females. When Julius laid the hard sell on Furia the night before, it perked up Troy’s ears. He didn’t know her name or her face from any of the files or updates he received from his handler, which suggested she was completely new to the game, though he overheard one of the guys insinuate she had family flagged up with the gang. Bradshaw guessed from Julius’ reactions, both the previous night and when she showed up today, the leader of the Saints knew Furia, somehow. Troy wanted to know how.

“So, you grew up around here?”

She nodded then pointed past him. “About a couple dozen blocks East of here. A quick drive, if the traffic’s good, though it usually isn’t. Hell, I was confirmed in that old church you’re … we’re holed up in,” she replied with a laugh.

“And everyone just calls you Furia?” Troy tried to remain careful as he felt her out. He needed a name he could search if need be.

“Been called that since I learned to walk, basically. Why? Does it not fit?” She turned and faced him, walking backward carefully with a mischievous grin painted on her lips, as if daring him to disagree.

Troy shrugged and flicked away the cigarette he finished. Fierce and tenacious on the surface, something else hovered in her gaze—the reality beneath the bravado. She did not look wholly comfortable, either with the gun or the situation he ushered her toward. _She should not be here_ , Troy really wanted to be able to give her an out. Except there was no escape he could offer. She showed up at the church; she was in now. No matter how much he would prefer not to see someone like her mixed up in all this, he couldn’t interfere.

“I just like to know what I’m working with,” he finally answered.

She turned again and tucked her hands in the pockets of her hoodie. “Determined,” she replied, her voice stoic. “You’re working with determined and focused.” This time, when her eyes met his, he knew it was the truth, sans the bluster.

“I can deal with that.”

When they turned the corner, both stopped in their tracks. The trio in yellow loitered about halfway up the block—two of them leaned on an ugly gold beater, while a third just lounged on a nearby stoop.

Furia took a deep breath, staring at them. “So this is the test, sí? Should be fine,” she stated. He could hear it; she was trying to convince herself of the fact as much as him. His eyes followed her hands as she unzipped the hoodie and tossed it at him.

As much as he tried not to, Bradshaw could not help but stare. The baggy jeans and massively oversized hoodie cleverly disguised the lithe shape of her body, but the lace top with thin straps revealed so much more of her physique—slim with a hint of supple muscle under soft-looking skin. Staring transfixed was not the best option, he knew, but his mind rebelled and his eyes just took it all in. Her hands untwisted and loosened her jet black hair. After she slipped the thin elastic around her wrist, Furia ruffled her wavy tresses, fluffing a little life into them. Loose curls fell down her back and over her shoulders. Then she glanced over her shoulder at him, wearing a crooked smirk and giving him a confident wink before strutting up the street.

He stayed back, moving at a much slower. She pegged it, this was her test, but she was not completely on her own. His job was to make sure no one got the drop on her, and to help out if he needed to. _Of course, you might be more help if you stop staring at her ass_ , he reminded himself. Her walk seemed less affected by the weight of the pistol in the holster at the small of her back. _Not the best choice, but at least they can_ _’_ _t see it yet_. Bradshaw figured the change in her movement came as a result of her trying to seem innocuous and distracting.

_And distracting she has down. Innocuous. Not a chance. But they won_ _’_ _t see that. Not many men would._ There was nothing harmless, safe, or bland about the woman sashaying down 12th Street. Furia reminded him of one of those brightly colored venomous snakes—attractive and dangerous. But precisely how deadly, he could not be sure of yet.

The sharp whistle made Troy halt. He turned toward a car parked illegally close to a fire hydrant and set her hoodie on the trunk, burying his own pistol in the loose fabric as he waited for it to start. She continued her path up the street. In truth, he expected more hesitation on her part.

“Hey, now. What have we here?” the one on the stoop asked, leaning forward and leering at her pointedly.

“I don’t know, but caramel is my favorite,” a short, round white kid in yellow added.

“Aww. That’s too bad,” Furia purred. “I prefer something stronger than vanilla.”

Troy tried not to laugh. The man on the stoop unfolded, and stalked toward her. _Damn he_ _’_ _s a big son of a bitch_. The guy looked like he was at least six-foot-three. He towered over Furia, but she did not miss a beat; she shifted to her left just so. Her movement was quick and effortless. When the shot rang out they were all surprised, even Troy.

Vanilla grabbed her gun and Furia kneed him in the groin. As the third tried to get his pistol out of his coat, Troy drew his weapon, moving toward the scene, but she already had it under control. Furia grabbed the short kid’s bat and swung wide, cracking the third man in the jaw with it. A sickeningly moist sound was accentuated by the crack of wood against bone.

Bradshaw stopped cold when she stood over Vanilla. The bat head tapped the cement next to the kid’s ear.

“Respect is a precious commodity.”

Her words spilled calmly from her lips as she leaned over the man who had referred to her as a sweet treat. Neither Troy nor the Vice King banger had a chance to even consider what was about to happen until after she swung the bat like Tiger Woods on the fairway.

Reclaiming her gun, she walked over to the other one in yellow, who was still breathing and fired a round into his chest. Her efficiency surprised him. From the hint of nervousness she demonstrated on the way over, Troy hadn’t expected her attentiveness to the details of the situation.

When she glanced back at him, Bradshaw stopped cold. It was almost like looking at a different person. As she walked toward him, he saw it shift again, not quite back to the playful young woman he had been talking to before they turned the corner, but the darkness seemed to have dissipated. She looked a little surprised, maybe even shocked that it had been so smooth. But then these types of things usually were—they were either quick and visceral or they wound up a total clusterfuck.

He did not miss a beat. Swinging her hoodie over her shoulders, he leaned her against the trunk of the Vice Kings’ ostentatious gold car. The big guy carried the keys and once Troy palmed them, he pushed Furia into the passenger seat, tossing the bat into the back. _No need to put her on anyone_ _’_ _s radar just yet,_ he told himself as he slipped into the driver’s seat.

Neither of them said a word as he steered them away from the scene. He just kept checking on her periodically as he drove away from the scene, more carefully than normal. The silence grated his nerves, but he left the radio off, though he quickly lit up a cigarette after they got in the car. She declined his offer with a quiet single shake of her head. After about ten blocks, Bradshaw started to relax a little. _If she hasn_ _’_ _t wigged out yet, she_ _’_ _s not going to._

“Stop the car!”

Troy slammed on the brakes and Furia bolted. He was not surprised by the reaction, in fact he expected it long before now. His own response to taking a life for the first time had been similar, he recalled as he steered the car into the alley she had dashed down. Tapping the steering wheel, he considered his options. He grabbed the bottle of what looked like water out of the console and unscrewed the lid as he climbed out.

Opting to give her a moment to collect herself, Troy perched on the front of the car and waited. He tapped another cigarette out of his nearly empty pack and lit it. He could see her shoulder, as she leaned against the wall; he assumed she was playing it over in her head. It was normal. Hell, he still replayed every shot, he thought as he flicked at the filter, scattering ash on the feint breeze.

Furia looked a little pale when she finally approached the car. She leaned against the hood next to him and he offered her the bottle.

“It’s vodka,” he warned, having caught a whiff of it when he opened the bottle.

She nodded once, a strained curve on her lips as she took the bottle. “Probably better that way.”

“You might be right.”

She spat a mouthful across the cement then tipped the bottle upward again.

“Whoa, now,” Troy said after the third gulp, wrapping his hand around hers. “That’s not going to help. Trust me.”

Her eyes met his, brimming with doubt.

“First time, huh?”

“How could you tell?” she quipped, looking away from him, eyes lowering to her feet.

Embarrassment. He recognized it, some of the fellas reacted the same way when they lost it after their first. He twisted the cap back on the water bottle. “The first one is always tough. Even if it’s something like that. Hell, even if it’s you or them. It’s still not easy.”

“Looked easy enough last night,” she noted, glancing back at him.

Troy stared down the alley not meeting her gaze. “Yeah, well, after a while, in certain situations, it can be. Last night was a different circumstance,” he admitted, finally letting himself look at her. “Going on the offense like you did back there can be a little tough to wrap your head around.”

“Not really,” she replied, as she stood and walked up the alley a few steps. “I just remembered that guy from last night. It was him and me, … three times.”

He nodded thoughtfully and took a swig of the cheap alcohol. “Goddamn.”

Furia laughed lightly, as she turned back toward him.

“What the hell is this?” Troy choked out with a rough cough.

“If I had to venture a guess,” she said, stealing the bottle from him and taking another drink. The face she made had to be at least as bad as his reaction to it. “Probably Aristocrat or some other rail brand.”

Troy narrowed his eyes at her.

“You know that rack that bartender’s go to first?” Furia explained.

He nodded.

“That’s the rail. It’s generic alcohol, cheap and tastes like crap. Generally, just poor quality alcohol. Most of the time you only mix with it.” Furia took another drink.

“How can you stomach that? I mean I’ve had some swill, but that’s worse than jet fuel.”

She smiled, walking around to the passenger side of the car. “You’d be surprised what you can stomach when you’re broke.”

When she offered him the bottle again, Troy declined, he wanted to keep whatever remained of his stomach lining, which that crap was probably chewing away right then. For a moment, he thought she was going to take another drink, but instead she poured it out and tossed the bottle into the dumpster past him.

“Nice shot, Magic, now get in the car.”

“Can I drive?”

Troy eyed her carefully for a second, then tossed her the keys. She hurried past him, tugging off her hoodie and tossing it in through the window as she stretched. At first, he looked at her for any sign that she was struggling with what happened, then he found himself studying the subtle tone of her bare midriff and her arms. The reprieve from his distraction came when she slipped into the driver’s seat.

A gleeful twinkle lit her eyes as she put the key in the ignition. When she glanced over at him, the purr in her voice was entirely too alluring. “So, do you want to see what this fugly beast can do?”

“Sure,” Troy replied bravely.

As her foot came down on the gas, he instinctively grabbed the handle on the door as she shifted through the gears more quickly than he thought she should. Luck seemed to be with her when she was behind the wheel, he surmised, it could not all be skill—even when she managed to get them from the alley to the street without a wreck. She was right about one thing; the metallic gold beast really did have something hiding under the hood.

* * *

 [1] Guaje: fool; idiot.

[2] Símon: yeah, yep


	2. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After killing someone for the first time Furia finds herself trying to wrap her head around her actions and the thoughts surrounding that incident. Troy magnanimously offers her a way our from under her own uncertainty and doubt surrounding her actions and reactions to the trying situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thanks again to Chy who gave this a few reads to help me get it just right.

**Solitude: Before I See**

**02 Lost**

  
****-1-** **

* * *

Furia leaned on the hood looking up at the puffy white clouds over Stilwater, the day was still bright and a just warm enough. Troy was still talking to one of his boys, or so she assumed, probably telling him what supplies to bring and where to take them. She had suggested taking the car to Miguel who could have it in so many pieces no one would ever be the wiser within a matter of hours, but Bradshaw had nixed that idea in exchange for a show. He was going to torch the Vice King's ride in Carnales territory.

_There is a certain poetry to it, considering last night_.  _It is merely a shame that there aren't any Rollerz to litter about the scene_. When the thought fully registered it made her shiver and she tugged her jacket back up on her shoulders. She swallowed at the lump growing in her throat, as she wrapped her arms around herself. The thought had felt so natural but at the same time it felt so foreign to her; that was not the way she was brought up.

Sliding up on the hood, she propped her feet on the bumper and watched him, propping her elbows on her knees. He was rather animated when he spoke, his gestures centered around the cigarette he was alternately puffing the hell out of then ignoring for a time. As he finished it, he lifted it to his lips between his thumb and forefinger and took a long slow drag. His eyes met hers when he flicked it away.

"Yeah, Jules, she's good," he said before he turned his back on her.

Furia smiled, she only barely heard the report, though she wondered if it was a compliment about how she handled herself or a diagnosis of her current state. It made her body relax a little, either way it was a plus, though her mind was still racing. She could still see the surprise in the first VK's eyes. He really had not expected her to shoot him. The guy with the smart ass caramel line had looked positively panicked. But his fear had not registered with her until after. The third she chose not to look at beyond aiming the gun. But for some reason, those men's faces just kept flashing in her brain.

As it all flickered in her mind she hopped off the hood, choosing movement instead of stillness for a time. The toe of her boot bounced lightly against the tire while she leaned against the hood, screwing her eyes shut tight as she tried to think about the reasons she used to convince herself to take up Julius' invitation. But no matter how hard she tried to wipe the images out of her head, or at least change them to something she could deal with, they just kept coming. But it was strange.

The hand placed in the center of her back made her jump. Troy pulled his hand back when she reacted, then they both took a step back.

"You all right?" he asked, staring at her.

"Sure," Furia said first, but she could see he was not buying it. "I don't know." It had only taken a half a minute of him looking at her like that for her to cave. He was studying her-his eyes were scrutinizing but warm, the slight frown suggested he might be disappointed that she had not been immediately and completely forthcoming with him.

Everything she had done in the last hour or so was so far out of her comfort zone, she was not even sure how to even start reconciling it. First the fight, that she had done before, though mostly one-on-one, only a handful of times had things gotten out of control and wound up all out brawls like what happened at the church. But Twelfth Street was something altogether different.

Guns were not something wholly unknown to her, but they were unfamiliar. She had felt incredibly foolish when it had been so easily knocked from her hands. She still could not be sure what had possessed her to pick up the bat.  _Self-preservation_ , she realized when she remembered the panicked look on the face of the young man searching for his gun. The thing she had the hardest time with was her response to the idiot.

"Tell me about it," Troy suggested, his tone even and warm, engaging. Troy did not try to get closer to her, but his look became almost comforting.

"What?" A part of her wanted to talk about it, while another wondered if it was what she was supposed to do Beyond the big weighing  _if_  she should discuss it with anyone, she did not even really know how. Even with him, who had been standing not thirty feet from it all.

With a little flick of the wrist a cigarette just seemed to effortlessly slide out of the pack. He offered it toward her, she shook her head and he took it instead. She watched the flame lick at the tobacco as he lit it, then he looked at her again as he pocketed the black plastic lighter.

"In detail," he said, letting out a smooth trail of smoke. "Tell me everything that happened. Every thought that went through your head. Every little action."

Furia looked at him curiously. "You were there. You saw it."

"Yeah I saw it from up the street. It isn't always the same as being right there in it."

"What does it matter where you were standing? I shot two guys and teed off on a guy's face," she said shaking her head. Furia leaned on the hood of the car and curled her arms around her head.

"Trust me. It might help."

When the silence dragged on, Troy prompted her. "Why did you take off your sweatshirt?"

"Because guys are stupid, no offense," she replied without really thinking about it. "If I only had on this-" she faced him again and opened her jacket showing him the scant halter again "-they would only see the cleavage-bearing top and the low slung jeans, which is why I took my hair down. A girl ready for a fight would have her hair up, unless she's stupid."

"And why'd you cut down the little guy?"He leaned against the hood, taking a long drag on his cigarette.

"Guys like that just irk me."

"I could tell."

Her melodic laugh was colored slightly by a dark maniacal note. "Dogging him meant the big guy thought he stood a chance," she explained, glancing over at Troy through the corner of her eye, he was looking back at her from a similar perspective. Both of them leaned against the gold beater, not really looking at the other, but still peeking from time to time. "The one in charge was the fella on the stoop. When I walked up, they both looked to him. He was in charge and I saw his handgun in his belt. He felt like the biggest threat, so I needed to deal with him first."

"I agree. He even worried me a little," Bradshaw admitted.

Their attention turned to the sound of tires in the dirt. There were two engines rather than one, which she had not expected. A vibrant purple Hammerhead pulled in and skidded to a stop as a sleek little black Bootlegger pulled in behind it. The driver of the first car revved the engine one more time before shutting off the engine.

_Yeah, you wish_ , Furia thought. Hammerheads could get out of the gate fast and handled pretty well, but even when they were supped up they were little more than average.  _Though they certainly are pretty._

Her grandfather loved cars. And it was an appreciation that seemed to run in her family. Her uncle Antonio owned a little shop on the east side, where Furia nurtured an unnatural appreciation for powerful engines, while her cousin Miguel developed more useful skills. Regardless of the fact she had not been allowed to work on cars, she still loved them and especially loved driving them. To her every one was unique with its own quirks and surprises.  _Kind of like people_ , she thought as Troy walked toward the purple car.

The Hammerhead did not capture her attention, Furia's eyes were however glued to the black sedan.  _Pure American muscle_ , she thought as she approached it slowly. Every detail of it was enticing-the gloss paint job that looked like it was hand polished to enhance the shine; the white walls were virtually pristine, which she knew was no easy task in this city; and the chrome was flawless.

"Someone loves you," she said quietly as she dragged her fingertips along the ridge of the hood. The Bootlegger was gorgeous, and if the deep purr she had heard beneath the growl of the purple coupe was any indication, this ebony beauty was hiding something sexy under her hood.

  
****-2-** **

* * *

All three of the other Saints were watching her. "Damn, she really loves cars," Paulie noted as he tilted his head, watching Furia circle the vehicle touching it delicately and eying it almost as lecherously as the three men were her.

"You bring what I told you?" Troy asked, a little impatient, in part because the guys were holding things up, but also because he did not care for the way his boys were ogling the newest Saint. Of course, Troy knew he did not have room to judge on that front. Furia was built to draw attention, and she had surely captured Troy's.

Thundercat climbed out of his Hammerhead and opened the trunk. The bandage over his nose merely made his injuries stand out. Both his eyes were blackening from the force of the hit Furia had landed at the canonization, which had knocked the kid cold. To add salt to the wound, the injured man seemed a little offended that she did not seem to appreciate of his ride.

"Keys!" Troy said and Paulie tossed them over. "Think you boys can handle a little fire? Or do you need some help?"

"Nah, we got this," Thundercat said with another glance over at the woman, who was leaning in the driver's side window.

Troy assumed she was looking for the hood latch by the way she was stretching. If her driving was any indication, she might just be another Lin. His walk hitched with the thought. Furia had already shown that she was willing to earn her place in the Saints. Julius seemed to require just that from the moment he pitched her. Then there was that showing in the graveyard, even Lin had not fared that well, and after Furia cold cocked the first guy who came at her none of the females would go in against her.

He whistled sharply as he walked toward the car. When she looked at him, he yelled, "Stop flirting with my car." _Goddamn_ , he thought as she folded her arms on the roof and rested her chin on them.

"You expect me to believe this is yours?" she asked with a challenging grin.

One of the gas cans hit the ground with a loud thud. With a glance back Troy confirmed that the two kids he had called were again more interested in the Latina who had been touching Bradshaw's Bootlegger suggestively than the task at hand but he chose to ignore them.

"What I strike you as a guy with poor taste?"

"Not sure. But you don't strike me as a guy who could handle a ride like this."

"Get in the car," he ordered as he rounded the vehicle. The look in her eyes felt like a challenge, and there was a part of him that wanted to take her up on it.

She leaned on the door then had the nerve to smirk at him and hold her hand out. "If you won't let me look, can I at least give her a try?"

Troy smiled and shook his head, twirling the keys around his index finger before closing them in his fist. "Not a fucking chance," he said with a little laugh.

The sigh contained a note of exasperation that was magnified by the little roll of her eyes. She turned quickly and yanked the door open before she crawled across the front seat. Troy could not decide if she trying to goad him deliberately or if it was purely incidental, whichever it was there was a little voice reminding him that he was supposed to keep his distance from the Saints. Though that was a directive he had already failed at in too many ways to count anymore.

This time the radio was on, so he got a one cigarette reprieve from his fascination with her. It was the reason he refused to let her drive. On the way to the clearing that the Carnales used for disposal of all sorts, he could not help but stare at her. It was less about ogling and more about trying to figure her out, though his observation had not been entirely innocent.

This choice, joining the Saints, did not seem to fit her. Well, it did not fit what he had seen so far. She was quick on the uptake, and described herself as determined. He just could not figure out why she would put herself in this type of life. And why she would go this route when most of the girls that came into the Saints stayed on the fringe, most of them never actually going through the canonization. Instead they would just latch onto someone and become part of the gang in the most tenuous sense.

Bradshaw glanced over at her; Furia had her chin in her hand as she leaned on the car door, watching the city of Stilwater pass by. His fingers tapped against the steering wheel as he finished the first cigarette and immediately lit a second. He rubbed his fingertips against his forehead for a moment, trying to get his mind back on track then looked at her again. When she tugged her jacket a little tighter, Troy recalled their earlier conversation and traced back through it quickly.

"You said you knew the big guy had to go first, why?" he asked.

There was a trace of surprise on her face when she looked over at him.

He nodded at her.

"Wha-? Oh." Furia shook her head a moment. "The other two were younger, seemed more nervous I guess. The one on the stoop was calmer, relaxed. Something told me he wouldn't panic when the shots started."

Troy nodded, his eyes on the road.

"I didn't really think when the little guy grabbed me, but it's a good thing he had that bat."

"I had your back."

"I know," Furia said, her eyes on his when he looked over at her.

He held her gaze for as long as he dared, not certain if he could not look away or if it was more of a preference to not break her gaze. But the blare of the horn drew his attention back to the road. When he flipped off the other driver who was rightfully honking at him, she chuckled at him. It was a promising reprieve to the cloudy uncertainty she had exhibited since that incident.

"What about the other guy?" Troy suggested.

Initially, she said nothing. Her hand moved up and down her arm slowly as she stared out the window.

Uncertain as to why he did it, Troy pulled over on the empty street and threw the car into park. She looked over at him sharply in response.

"Look, I swear I'm not trying to be some jerk and make you go back through it all. It is just that sometimes when you look at what happened you can see where things went wrong or right. It can make it easier to deal with."

Furia turned toward him, and said, "That's the thing. It wasn't the choices so much that I have the issue with. Once I turned that corner, what was going to happen was going to happen. Whether I did it, or got myself into something hairy and you had to do it. With the big guy, I only thought about how to get it done, what the easiest way to lure him was. The kick and the first swing, were reactionary."

Turning and slumping down in the seat, she stared straight out the window. Troy felt bad for her. Taking a life could be tough to deal with. Even more so when you were just walking into something like the situation he had led her into. He felt a little responsible for her current state and so he pushed. But he also knew there was something more to it.

Tapping her shoulder with the back of his hand drew her eyes back to him. "I know it's not quite the same thing, but I understand. Things aren't always clear. My first-"  _God help me._ He had not thought about that in so long; sure the face came back to him from time to time, but not so often as it had.

"I was about twenty. It was a screwed up situation. Two gangs shooting it out. I turned a corner and was barrel-to-barrel with a kid who couldn't have been more than thirteen, if he was a day." Troy stared at the dash clock. "I asked him to put it down. Begged him, if you want to know the truth."

"What happened?" she asked quietly.

One corner of his mouth kicked up for a second as he tilted his head. "He was shaking so bad, the shot barely grazed me. I shot after he did. I just wasn't quite as nervous."

Finding her hazel eyes on him was more comforting than he expected.

"That wasn't an easy call. And I hesitated. It was him or me, and if he had not been just some nervous kid, I probably wouldn't be here."

"But it wasn't clear cut for you."

"Still isn't," he revealed. "That kid. He shouldn't have been there. I shouldn't have had to make that call. And he shouldn't be dead because some jackass put a gun in his hands and sent him out into that shit."

"You're right."

"So tell me," Troy said, braving the increasing intensity.

"It seems so … misguided." Furia retreated slightly, leaning against the door as she stared at him. "All I could hear was what he said when I walked up."

With a heavy sigh, she leaned forward and rested her forehead on her hands. "I've heard it so many times, usually I just ignore it, but this time I could respond the way I've always kind of wanted to. I guess in some weird way right then it wasn't just him," she said, finally straightening again. "It's really just outlandish. I mean, last night I almost break some bastard's wrist and today I crack some idiot's skull open for catcalling me."

"Guess I'll have to remember not to refer to you as caramel," he said lightly.

"Or mamacita," she added with a sly smile.

"Now see, I kind of like that one," Troy said as he started the car again.

Furia shook her head and rolled her eyes at him.

"It happens," Troy said. "Shit, it happens to Johnny every twenty minutes."

"What? Being called mamacita?"

"Not quite. Though I think I'd pay to see that happen." He grabbed the pack of cigarettes tucked in the visor above him, and tapped the car's lighter. "Killing some guy for the shit another motherfucker pulled. One guy in the place pulls a gun, and they all hit the floor. But he's the extreme. Though I've been there a few times myself."

He took a long drag as he thumbed the window down a touch.

"You might be right. And I think I'd pay to see someone call Johnny Gat mamacita."

"You have no idea." There was no guarantee that she was beyond what happened earlier, but there was no question that she did not seem to be quite so overwhelmed by it either. He knew talking about it had helped him find a way to deal with it back then, though he never really talked about things since. Turning onto Third Street, Bradshaw resolved to keep an eye on her, though he knew that might be tough since she would be rolling with Julius' crew.


	3. Foundations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Proving yourself is never easy. In doing so Furia has a chance to show off her skills, as well as unintentionally showcase her lack of familiarity with firearms. After eluding the cops, she drops of Julius and Troy at the church and heads to her cousins shop where she and her brother finally have a chance to talk about her new path in life. All the while, Julius and his lieutenants are discussing the newest soldier to join their ranks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to Chy who is the most wondrous person ever. Thank you for the read through and putting up with the random ramblings. Note: Translations are at the bottom of the text.

**03 Foundations**

**-1-**

* * *

 

Troy dropped Furia off at the church that afternoon, which afforded her some much needed time to find a way to work her choices out for herself. The next day was busy and started with a phone call from a number she did not know, but she remembered the voice. Dex's voice was distinct--high-pitched for a man but just as smooth as Johnny's. After he had told her where to meet his man Javier, the question sprang to mind. _How the hell did he have my phone number?_ She had not thought to give it to anyone and it was not like there was an application to join the Saints. When her phone rang again, she realized how. Her cousin had a big goddamn mouth sometimes, though his girlfriend, Jen was far worse than Miguel could ever aim for.

 

On the way to meet Dex's guy she placed a call to let Mrs. Nguyen know that she would probably not be in for the next few days. The older woman, the wife of the man who owned the local dry cleaners, told her that would be fine. She did not ask any questions, thankfully. But Furia knew that she would have to figure out a way to break that tie, though not before she closed out the books for the month.

 

Furia classified the events of the last few days as tests, she was not quite sure they were anything more than assessments of what she could do and how far she was willing to go. That perception of things was supported by the fact that she got yet another chaperone. On Dex's little errand--she and some kid younger than Memo were sent to clear out an abandoned storefront that the Carnales were dealing out of. When the crew boss took off, the pair of Saints gave chase. Furia could not help the puffed up chest that accompanied Javier's raving about her driving to anyone within earshot once they returned to the church. Sure, she had traded paint with a retaining wall and a few other cars, while proving that Slingshots cannot fly worth a damn, but Furia drove the hell out of the little jallopie they had confiscated.

 

When they got back to the church, Javier reported to Dex, but Furia did not even make it into the courtyard before Julius volun-told her for another gig. Gun play was not her forte, at least until she was being shot at. Through attention and timing, combined with the wide spray of a shotgun, Furia at least did not look like as poor a shot as she knew she was. When she ran out of shells, she fell back to the handgun she was not particularly comfortable with.

 

Mimicking Julius at one point and Troy at another, then trying to hold it any other way that might work, she found it was futile. At one point she resorted to just sneaking up on a guy who was firing at one of the others in purple and pistol whipping him before confiscating his submachine gun. It was not any easier to aim. But in the same vein as the shotgun, put enough flying bits of lead in the air and someone's going to get hit with something. What she lacked in skill she made up for in tenacity and creativity sprinkled with enough will to survive to make her dangerous enough to be of note.

 

Her shooting might have left something to be desired, but her driving was untouchable. Troy stared out the back window, while Julius alternately watched where they were going as well as checking on the cops behind them.

 

"Why are you slowing down?" Troy yelled about two minutes into the chase.

 

"Because the hole between that pickup and the garbage truck is just a little too tight," Furia noted, watching the intersection in front of her. _And pedestrians and two tons of metal don't mix well._ When the sidewalk cleared first, she laid on the horn and jumped the curb. The warning worked, thankfully, the one person on her alternate route jumped a guardrail just as the car veered onto the walkway.

 

Once back on the street she shifted through the gears quickly; standards were her favorite vehicles, so much more control, at least in her opinion. With a glance in the mirror she saw two sets of flashing lights follow through that intersection while one was stupid enough to misjudge and get stuck in the tight spot she had avoided.

 

_Where am I?_ she asked herself. She did not have the entire city wired, but on the south side she knew how to hide and where the sketchy short cuts were. Both of her passengers cursed vehemently when she fishtailed the car and turned up an alley. Troy and Julius were both less concerned with the cops behind them as she accelerated down the thin alley.

 

The alley ended with an outlet onto a thin street, and as she sped toward the row of brick houses Furia felt Troy's knee press into the back of her seat as he braced himself.

 

"Umm. You see that right, playa?" Julius said as calmly as the situation garnered.

 

"Mmhmm," she hummed as the car sped up.

 

Driving a car for her was like chess for other people. Furia was always thinking a turn ahead, and in this part of town she could think a little farther than that if she was feeling brave, which she was. At least she was until she saw the red and blue lights shining on the houses in front of her.

 

"This might get a little interesting," she stated calmly.

 

 

**-2-**

* * *

 

_Interesting? She calls this interesting. Jesus Christ!_ Troy thought as he sat back up and looked out the back window at the patrol car Furia had just sideswiped.

 

"Might want to tone it down a bit, playa," Julius noted, still hanging onto the drunk handle like it might somehow help.

 

He looked tense, Julius' mouth was drawn into a thin line and his hands were tight around the handle and the center console. If Troy had to guess, the boss might even be pressing himself into the back of the seat. It was kind of funny to see Julius Little ruffled. It did not happen often.

 

The older man was the stark contrast of their driver. Furia was calm, relaxed, and keen on her task. Maybe too much so Troy noted as he rubbed at the back of his head, which had bounced off the side window when she made the turn out of the alley. Using the cop car, which had tried to block them in, was a little ingenious, though painful, at least for Troy who had not put on a seat belt. In a way he was glad for that fact, it was as likely as not that the hit could have done ugly things with a belt fastened.

 

"Yeah, if you don't tone it down they are going to lock down this neighborhood," Troy added, holding onto the back of the driver's seat as she slid into another turn.

 

"They can try," Furia replied in a calm calculated way. She was focused, eyes darting to mirrors and returning to the road as she wove in and out of lanes drawing more than a few concerned honks as well as various yells and hand gestures. She took another right and headed in the direction they had just come from.

 

"What are you doing?" Julius asked, concern tingeing his deep voice.

 

"They expect me to go west or north, the general direction I've been going the entire time. They won't be watching intersections south of where they last spotted me."

 

Troy just leaned back in his seat. She was dead on. If he had to put money on it, there were cars rushing for the Barrio district, which meant it might be possible to cruise to the church in relative safety. Or so he thought until Furia pulled into an alley and parked the car in a little alcove.

 

"What are you doing?" Julius questioned with widened eyes when she turned the car off.

 

Furia laid her arms on the steering wheel and looked over at the boss. "I just wrecked at least three of their marked cars. I'm pretty sure I might have even run one of their unmarkeds into a telephone pole. This car," she said rubbing her hand over the dash, "is too hot. It should go relatively unnoticed, at least for a few hours."

 

The men followed when she climbed out of the car. "Plus, it's a nice night," she noted, zipping her hoodie and flipping up the hood. "A little walk never killed anyone. I'll find us something a few blocks away and get you two back all safe and sound. Nothing to worry about."

 

Julius and Troy shared a look. Neither could argue, because she was right. Every cop in the city had the tags and description on the car they were walking away from. He hazarded a guess as to where the idea had come from--it was a booster's mentality when it came to trouble, at least the smart ones. Steal it. Stash it. Pick it up when the heat died down. At least that's what the guys from Auto Theft told him before he started this gig.

 

"Where'd you learn to drive like that?" Julius queried as the two men caught up to her.

 

"Exactly where you think I learned," Furia retorted.

 

Julius looked a little shocked by the response. "Antonio?"

 

"Yep. He wouldn't let me work on them but he let me drive. Miguel taught me a few other useful skills after he and his Dad split ways."

 

The trace of a smirk on her lips confirmed what the mechanic had already revealed to Troy and Julius. She stalked toward the little convertible, eying it carefully. Troy was taken aback when she slid onto the trunk then immediately slipped off. With a smile she rounded the car and hopped into the driver's seat, almost immediately ducking under the dash. "Get in!"

 

There was a distinct disadvantage to being the second in command Troy realized as he climbed into the tiny backseat of the convertible while Julius stretched out in the front seat of the Cosmos. It was one of the reasons Troy hated convertibles, the backseat was little more than perfunctory. By the time Julius closed the door, Furia was upright and waiting for a window in traffic.

 

_The Auto Theft Unit would love to get their hands on you_ , he thought as he watched her lean back in the driver's seat. Furia looked completely relaxed and unperturbed that she was driving a vehicle she had just hotwired. Hell, if he were a uniform and saw her drive by he would never guess the vehicle was stolen. His theory was checked when they passed one of Stilwater's finest, lights twirling, but the officer did not even cast more than a glance at the convertible.

 

 

**-3-**

* * *

 

The rocks crunched beneath the tires of the light-colored breezer as it approached the warehouse set far off the corner. The garage door was open and both Miguel and Memo took note of the vehicle after the headlights went out. Miguel grinned with the driver climbed out. Furia hit the switch and the door closed behind her.

 

"If memory services, you've been looking for one of this, haven't you, cuz?" she said with a playful look as she patted the corner of the windshield.

 

"Always. Those suckers are like candy to those little sorority girls. They love this shit."

 

Furia pulled her leather gloves off and eyed her brother, who was standing behind Miguel with an intense scowl etching his dark features.

 

"Well," Miguel said with a trace of nervousness. "I'll just get you--"

"No," Furia interrupted, slapping the leather driving gloves against her palm then looking from her brother to her cousin. "No, get it to Tia Paola. Socorro's art lessons are starting again soon, and I need to get her tuition for the year paid up."

 

Miguel heard Memo shift behind him. The mechanic was not sure that between the two volatile siblings was where he wanted to be at that moment.

 

 

**-4-**

* * *

 

"How'd it go?" Johnny asked as Julius and Troy walked in.

 

_That's one hell of a loaded question_ , Julius thought as he shook his head. "I'll be honest I'm not sure how to answer that."

 

"We're back in one piece," Troy noted.

 

Julius' laugh was strained. "True."

 

"So what happened?" Dex asked eying the boss.

 

Julius gave them the run down. The response had gone fine, though Furia's aim left a little something to be desired. Her determination matched that of her grandfather. Put a task in front of her and Julius was pretty sure it was going to get done, though he knew he would likely not be able to predict how she might accomplish it, even if the plan was laid out for her. Then there was the getaway. _Goddamn that girl can drive_.

 

"I'm not sure whether to recommend you let her drive or not. But shit, if you're being chased--you want that girl behind the wheel. Just don't try to figure out what she's going to do while she's there." The boss chuckled with a shake of his head, he had guessed wrong at almost every corner.

 

"So she's as good as Miguel says then?" Dex asked, leaning forward onto the table and steepling his fingers in a thoughtful way.

 

"Better," Troy said.

 

"And she's quick on her feet. Knows the streets. It was like she knew just how to bait the cops," Julius noted. "She riled them enough. Then used their tactics against them."

 

"Miguel did say she's been doing this for a while. I'd expect she does know how the berries react, especially since she has no jacket."

 

"That's all fine and good. But can she shoot?" Gat inquired.

 

Troy winced and shrugged one shoulder. "She makes due."

 

"Damn." There was a trace of exasperation in Johnny's voice.

 

"Look, Lin's the only other real driver we have. And the way she took down your boys in the churchyard, that was damn impressive. That is where her experience lies. With a little time and practice her aim should steady up," Julius stated, slipping into the chair behind his desk.

 

"And if it doesn't just give her damn shotgun," Troy said as he slid his lighter back in his pocket and took a drag off his cigarette. "She had no trouble with that one."

 

"True." Julius chuckled. He leaned forward and laid his forearms on the desk, his eyes moving around the room. He knew the question that was coming next, and his answer might not sit well. "I'm pulling rank. She'll run with my crew. So feel free to pick her up if you have something that she can help with. But for the next week or so, she's with Lin. She wants to have Furia up there before she gets tagged as a Saint."

 

Johnny looked over at Troy. "Want to draw straws?"

 

Troy just laughed and shook his head.  "Why not?"

 

"No." Julius did not want Gat any more distracted than Aisha and the Vice Kings already had him. "Troy help her out. See if we can't get her squared away."

 

"You got it, Jules."

 

Julius nodded, which prompted Johnny and Dex to leave. But he halted Troy's exit with an upheld hand. "Her brother is one of yours," Little announced, taking off his hat and running his hand over his head. "Memo is not going to like this one bit."

 

"Can't say as I'd blame him," Troy countered.

 

"Well, keep him on a tight leash and don't let him interfere."

 

"I'll do what I can."

 

"And I want you to keep an eye on her. Help her out if she needs it."

 

"What's this about Julius?" Troy asked, leaning his knuckles on the desktop and looking at the boss curiously.

 

"Just do as your told," Julius bit back.

 

Troy leaned back, the annoyance clearly etched in his features. "Sure thing, Boss."

 

Julius just watched his second leave. The leader of the Saints leaned back in his chair. Furia reminded him of her grandfather. Quick on her feet, talented, and most of all determined. He was fairly certain he knew why she had taken his invitation and shown up at the church. After her grandfather died she was the head of her family for all intents and purposes, as the oldest of seven. She came to the Third Street Church for more than respect, or money, or the myriad of other reasons some of the others had. Julius was fairly certain her reasons were more grounded, just like her grandfather's had been when he started his little smuggling operation on the docks.

 

Alejandro Guerrero had kept his eyes on the prize. His operation never got big enough to draw attention from anyone. He took care of his people and his customers. And he never got greedy. It is how the man managed to be one of the most solid smugglers in Stilwater and one of the least known for nearly a decade. Julius Little had admired his style, and he hoped Furia might favor the old man and bring a little more of that calmer perspective to the Saints. At least she would, if Julius was lucky.

 

 

**-5-**

* * *

 

Miguel was glad to have escaped before it all started. In truth, he was pretty sure they were waiting for him to leave. The fact that the office's plywood walls and thin glass windows really did not muffle any sound from the shop did not seem to matter to his cousins. Glad that Jen was already at their apartment, Miguel just waited out the storm raging in the other room. He only hoped that it would not cost him a windshield or a quarter panel, which was one of the reasons he leaned on the desk and watched the drama unfold through the greasy windows.

 

"What were you thinking, Tati[i]?" Memo growled.

 

"Don't fucking start with me, Memo. You've been flagged up for the last four months. I'm not that blind or that damn stupid," Furia fumed.

 

"I never said you were. But I had my reasons."

 

"And so do I."

 

"This isn't you," Memo argued.

 

Furia shook her head and looked exasperated. "It is as much me as anything else I've done. I can drive. I can fight. I'm not horrible with a shotgun. And you know what, I don't have to listen to some sleazy little troll try to get me in a g-string every time I show up."

 

Memo smacked the hood of the La Fuerza with one of his big paws, making Miguel wince and ogle the car to see if he could ensure there was no damage, but he would not know for sure until he got back into the garage. The windows were just too greasy.

 

"¡Chingado! You can still back out of this."

 

"No, I can't," Furia replied matter-of-factly, leaning against the door of the sky blue Cosmos.

 

"I'll talk to Troy, see if we can talk to Julius."

 

"After tonight, I don't think that conversation is going to work, hermanito."

 

Memo had to know that even if she had not gone out with the boss and his second, it was a long shot, but after she explained what had happened earlier even Miguel knew Julius well enough to know Furia was in and there was only one way out. He understood both sides and found himself somewhere in the middle. He agreed with Memo--Miguel did not really want Furia in this life either. But he knew how hard she worked just to try and eek by. Furia made decent money, and if nearly every cent did not go to taking care of her brothers and sister she would not be living in their grandparent's old house at the leisure of their aunts and uncles.

 

"You think I don't know where you are coming from? How do you think I've felt the last few months? You skulking around trying to be all sly about the little hints of purple creeping into your wardrobe. Come on, Memito. You know me." Furia held her brother's face in her hands and looked up into his face.

 

"Yeah, I do, which is why I don't want to see this. I don't want to lose my sister. Because to be flat out honest. I couldn't do it."

 

"Do what?"

 

"Sundays, the games, all the rest of it you don't tell any of us about. I would have helped. But I couldn't do it," Memo said casting a cool glance in Miguel's direction.

 

"You don't have to. I'm not an idiot. I don't do things stupid."

 

When Memo tried to look away, Furia pulled him into a hug. Miguel was almost a little jealous. He and his brothers were not this close. Half the time they barely spoke, and not a damn one of them was concerned about him stripping cars or any of the rest of the shit he had ever pulled.

 

"Look, just promise me one thing," Memo said with a sigh of acquiescence.

 

"Maybe," Furia replied, a sly little smirk painted her lips.

 

"If you find yourself in trouble, call me. Or call Troy. Just don't fucking call Johnny."

 

Furia laughed. "Why not?"

 

"Because that motherfucker is crazy as a shithouse rat and twice as dangerous," Miguel called from across the room. "Now if you two are done, could one of you bitches give me a ride home."

 

"Chúpame la verga[ii]," Memo retorted with a rude gesture.

 

Miguel just laughed. "I don't have time to go searching for the Holy Grail, carnal. Let's go!"

  


* * *

[i] Tati -- A nickname that tends to be given to older sisters by their younger siblings.

[ii] Chúpame la verga. -- Suck my dick.


	4. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Furia and Troy find themselves in increasingly complicated positions as outside forces seem to keep them in one another's range. Finally opening the door with Johnny Gat, Furia gets another offer that seems to showcase her skills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual laying out offerings at Chyrstis' altar for her assistance. You are wicked fabulous!

**Solitude: Before I See**

**04 Complications**

 

 

**-1-**

* * *

 

Furia was determined. That was all that needed to be said. Anytime someone needed a second or third, she was the one who volunteered. When Julius called and said an old friend of his needed a hand getting some business done, she spent half an afternoon pistol-whipping pimps, chauffeuring hookers, and out driving anyone wearing blue, including a few overzealous cops. The boss' pal, Will, was so pleased he told her that Julius had nothing to worry about and to let head of the Saints know he would spread the word that purple was the new black.

 

The part that impressed Furia most was just how much he paid for her assistance, what struck her even more was Julius telling her it was her work, therefore her money. She walked out of his office with her hand conspicuously on her pocket, which held more money than she had made in the last month-and-a-half. It was surreal. _All in one afternoon_. She knew it would not be a regular thing, there was no way it could be. _That just can't be possible_. But she knew that things might just be looking a little more doable.

 

Part of her needed to just breathe for a moment, but that was short lived. When she walked out of the church she turned her face toward the clouds. She understood now, what her grandfather had told her. Sometimes things just need to get done, and when you have a good enough reason you will do just about anything to take care of your own. _It's nice when it pays off._

 

"You've been busy."

 

Furia turned quickly and tried to fight the warmth she felt rising in her cheeks when she noticed Troy leaning there against the wall of the church.

 

"Figured I would make myself useful," she said a little too meekly, or so she thought.

 

"I can see. How are you faring with that pistol?"

 

Furia bit the inside of her cheek. _Of course._ She had been hoping her poor marksmanship might go unnoticed, but then deep down she knew that was not really a viable possibility. _Kind of tough to be the only Saint who can't shoot straight_.

 

"That good, huh?" he said with a laugh as he flicked the butt of his cigarette into the grass. "Come on."

 

She followed him down the steps to his car. "Where are we going?" she asked, leaning on the roof of the sleek black Bootlegger.

 

Troy leaned his elbow on the roof on the driver's side, looking her right in the eye. It never failed, every time he did that she suddenly felt like she was tied to hundreds of balloons; this weirdly light feeling tugged at her shoulders and she just wanted him not to look away. She exhaled slowly when his eyes darted back to the church.

 

"Do you want to learn how to use that thing, or not?" Troy asked, studying her in that way that was a strange mix of unnerving and enticing, like being asked to stay after class by that way-too-hot teacher in high school.

 

When she shrugged, he smiled. "Get in!" He turned the radio down before he started the car. "You're making quite a name for yourself."

 

"Just trying to be useful."

 

He shook his head. "To hear Mikey D tell it--"

 

"No," she interrupted and he cocked an eyebrow at her. "That was being in the wrong place at the right time. No skill or anything to it."

 

His laugh was warm, making her smile in response. "Yeah. Don't tell Mikey. I think he already got your name tattooed on his ass."

 

"Do all guys react that way when someone gets them out of a jam?" Furia asked a little exasperated at the overreaction the absent Saint was still having. All she had done was cold cock some idiot who had pulled a gun on Mikey, while he was stupidly only carrying a knife. A little smile crept across her face at the memory of being able to quote that stupid movie line about bringing a knife to a gun fight.

 

"I don't know. If someone as hot as you saved my ass, I might just sign it over."

 

"Oh, really? There's a thought."

 

When she noticed his hand tighten on the steering wheel, she felt just like that kid in the teacher's office again. Flirting with someone that was clearly off limits and unavailable. Sinking back into the seat a little, she rested her forehead on her fist as she chastised herself. He was not the type of guy she usually went for anyway, and she figured her naïve attraction to him had more to do with the aftermath of her first afternoon than anything else. Or at least that was how she explained it to herself when her hormones reared their ugly little heads.

 

The silence stretched on and she resigned herself to overstepping to try and drown out her own stupidity. Thankfulness was the only response to being able to turn the radio up without some kind of additional awkwardness, but Furia had intentionally avoided even looking at him again. The quiet ride to the edge of Stilwater had her wishing for something to occupy her mind other than the realization that this little shooting lesson would make her seem even more inept, because of her inability to see the line with him.

 

When they arrived at tract of open land, she took careful note of the crescent-shaped berm that surrounded a quarter of the area. A short round man in red flannel and a hunting vest called out to them as Troy climbed out of the vehicle immediately.  "Hey Troy! Good to see you."

 

Furia stepped out of the vehicle and drew a sharp whistle.

 

"Come on, Phil. She's one of ours," Troy said, shaking the other man's hand.

 

"Sorry, man. Didn't realize." There was a little note of a stammer in the man's voice, when he looked up at the woman he had just whistled at. "How's it going?"

 

Furia just shrugged both her shoulders and left her hands in her pockets. _Silence. Silence is good. It means you can't say anything else stupid._

 

"Cool," Phil replied to himself. "I got everything you asked for Troy and set up the targets. You should be able to control them all from the panel beside the table. That second key there opens it up."

 

"Thanks," Troy said and held his hand out palm up.

 

"Oh. Oh, yeah. Four sets, just like the big dog asked for."

 

"Good job." The Saints' second looked from Phil to the truck atop the hill, that they had walked past, a few times before the man got the hint.

 

"Oh, sure. Have fun," Phil said, walking to his beat up Thorogood.

 

Furia could feel her nerves peaking. She was not sure she was prepared for an afternoon alone with Troy Bradshaw in any shape or form, let alone with him correcting her posture and her aim.

 

"Where's your piece?" he asked as he walked over to the table.  He looked at it for a long moment then glanced at her over his shoulder. "You really don't know dick about guns, do you?"

 

Furia rolled her eyes. "No. Pretty much the first time I shot one was the afternoon I got canonized."

 

"Pretty much?" he asked as he started to take the pistol apart.

 

This Furia watched carefully. "Yeah, in junior high, the school got the bright idea to get the entire eighth grade their hunting licenses. If we passed the written test, we got to go on a field trip. They took us out to the edge of the suburbs, and the _at-risk inner city youth_ ," she said the phrase in a pretentious accent that sounded just the way she remembered her principal sounding, "got to skeet shoot a handful of rounds. Had a bruise on my shoulder for a week after the first shot."

 

Troy laughed. "They didn't warn you guys about the kick?"

 

"No. But I'm a pretty fast learner. Only took the kick back once."

 

"Did you hit anything?" His eyes met hers, but she looked away quickly.

 

"Nope."

 

"Well, at least that hasn't changed."

 

"Chingate guey," she replied with a sharp bite to her tone.

 

He slid the cartridge into her pistol and held it out to her. The look on his face told her he had no idea she had just told him to fuck himself.

 

"Show me different, then," he ordered, taking a step back.

 

It was even more uncomfortable for her knowing that he was watching her. She held the pistol in one hand and fired three shots. His hand was light on her shoulder, but it still made her nervous, mostly because she wanted it there.

 

"Use two hands. Grip with one and steady with the other." Troy demonstrated with his own .9mm. When she mimicked him he nodded. "Three more."

 

This went on for twenty minutes before he finally told her to take off her hoodie. At first he only made verbal suggestions, after her baggy shield was gone it became a lot more nerve wracking. Light touches and small corrections here and there, the feel of his palm between her shoulders, on her wrists--Furia knew it was all innocent but it was kind of hard for her to ignore the handsome man standing behind her as his hands adjusted her arms or her hips.

 

It was compounded by the fact that he smelled so damn good. Whatever the cologne was she selfishly started wishing he would run out, because the spicy warmth of it made her head spin. Because of everything else, she tried her damnedest not to look at him--she was certain her most rebellious thoughts would be completely obvious.

 

_Eyes forward. On the target_ ,she told herself over and over again anytime he touched her or stood near.

 

At one point when he was standing behind her, Troy's hand grazed her waist causing her hands to shake a little. What made it worse, was that he had noticed and asked, "You doing all right?"

 

"I'm fine. Just--" Breaking her own rule she turned and looked at him. _Goddamnit. Such a bad move._ She stared into his hazel eyes, just willing him to do something that would make her not feel like a ridiculous school girl.

 

Instead he stepped away clearing his throat. "Maybe we should call it."

 

Furia lowered her weapon and flipped the safety on, sliding it back into the holster she kept on her waist. "Yeah, sounds like a plan. I need to take care of something this afternoon anyway."

 

"What's that?" Bradshaw was packing the extra ammo into a small case.

 

"Have to finish something for some friends."

 

"If you need a hand"--he looked at her again, with a question seeming to take over his expression--"I could have one of my guys give you a hand."

 

She shook her head and declined, "Nah. I don't think any of your enforcers would be able to help me close out the Nguyen's books anyhow."

 

"How do you mean?"

 

As they walked back to the car, she explained her extensive skill set which had been inspired by Stilwater's unstable economy and her lack of education beyond high school. "I got halfway through my Associate's in Accounting, before Gabriel got pneumonia."

 

"Who's Gabriel?" Troy asked, stowing the box in the trunk.

 

"My baby brother. He spent four months in the hospital." She shrugged one shoulder and braved a glance up at Troy, his face was grave, sympathetic. "He was on my uncle's insurance, but that only covered some things. I was interning for Mr. Nguyen and he didn't fire me when I dropped out. But it was only a few hours a week. So between working any place that was hiring and now this," she said, meaning joining the Saints. "I can safely say I've done just about everything."

 

"Yeah, sounds like."

 

The car ride back to the Row was just as quiet as the trip out. Though this time Furia felt a little less like an idiot only because she preoccupied herself with the work she had ahead of her on the small shop's financial records. To top it off she had to meet Lin after dark to talk about a transport that was supposed to be coming in, a transport that was going to be waylaid.

 

 

**-2-**

* * *

 

After dropping Furia off at the cleaners, Troy sat in his car up the street for a long time, too long he knew. The more he learned about her the stranger it all seemed. He knew Memo mentioned brothers and sisters, but he did not realize the implications of the kid's statements until Furia's little disclosure about leaving school.

 

_Distance_ , he tried to remind himself. He weighed his options. Something in him needed to know if she was who she seemed to be or if all of this was just some elaborate game on her part.  Digging his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, he retrieved the last one and crumpled it before dropping it on the seat.

 

_None of this should matter_. But somehow it still did. _What if she's lying? Maybe she has a rap sheet longer than Miguel's._ _What exactly did she mean when she said she had done just about everything?_ If she was putting on some kind of innocent façade, who cared? When he broke it all down, somehow, somewhere, some way he needed to know precisely the type of person he was dealing with here.

 

By the time he stopped driving with the force and became aware of his surroundings again, he was halfway to the suburbs and the phone booth not far off the beach. Troy tapped the steering wheel nervously as he made the now conscious choice to head for the spot that was little more than twenty minutes out now, thanks to his subconscious.

 

Despite lack of use, the number was still fresh in his mind as he dropped quarters in the payphone, and eyed his surroundings.

 

"Hey, Alan. Any news?"

 

"Troy! Goddamnit, how ya been?"

 

"I'm still wearing fucking purple, that's how I've been. Where do we stand?" Troy annunciated every word of his question clearly. The run around he had been getting from everyone, including his partner, had the undercover detective on edge.

 

"It is what it is, man. They say their still building up their cases. There's not enough evidence or information on the Vice Kings. I mean some of the stuff you've brought us on the Los Carnales is golden. But the intelligence on the Rollerz is thin, too. They want more."

"And everything on Julius and his crew?" Troy stuck his hand in his pocket looking for his pack before remembering it was empty and laying on the passenger seat. He took the lighter out instead and flipped it repeatedly as the breeze blew the flame out.

 

"The Saints are nothing man. Just upstarts. No one's worried about them. But we're building the files."

 

"How much longer?"

 

"Depends on what the Saints do next, I guess," Alan said.

 

Troy could hear it in his partner's voice. Bradshaw was stuck until he could deliver cases on the other gangs from inside this one. Three years earning a reputation, gaining Julius Little's attention then his respect, and finally his trust, and he still had nothing more to show for it than a purple fleur-de-lis tattooed to the inside of his bicep.  Troy tucked the lighter away and leaned against the side of the phone booth, watching the darkening sky.

 

"Troy, you still there?" Markovson asked.

 

"Yeah. I'm still here."

 

"Why'd you call man?"

 

"I need information."

 

Alan laughed. "That's supposed to be your job man."

 

"Look. I need to know if someone's on the up and up."

 

"Informant?"

 

"Don't know. That's why I need a background," Bradshaw responded with a short tone.

 

"Give me a name."

 

The sound of typing in the background told Bradshaw his partner was going to run her right then and there. _Instant gratification, if you still want it?_

 

Troy rubbed at his forehead a moment, trying to decide. "I've only got an alias," Bradshaw said, stalling.

 

"If they're in the system, I should still be able to find them," Alan assured.

 

It was and was not exactly what Troy wanted to hear. "Furia."

 

"Wait. What? How do you spell that?"

 

"The way it sounds I guess."

 

The hunt and peck of keys resounded in Troy's head as Alan whispered her name slowly.

 

"Hmph."

 

"What is it?" Troy asked.

 

"Nothing."

 

"Check her against Guillermo and Miguel Guerrero," Troy added, his curiosity ramping up. _Maybe she's exactly who she says she is._ "Auto Theft might have something on her."

 

"I got nothing man."

 

"Did you check Miguel's associates?" the undercover officer repeated staring at the numbers on the keypad.

 

"Yeah. There's no Furia in system. Not even in association with the Guerrero guys." The long pause drew out. Troy keeping his thoughts to himself as his partner waited for more questions or an explanation. "Who is she?"

 

"Nobody." _Yet._

 

"Is everything okay, man?" Alan asked with a heavy note of concern.

 

"Yeah I'm good."

 

"This girl. Is she someone I should be looking for?"

 

"Probably not," Troy lied, though not really certain why. "I just wanted to make sure she was on the up-and-up."

 

Neither said anything and Troy hoped he was more convincing than he felt. He did not want the cops looking at her, especially not because he had been overzealous. "Listen, if you need something . Let me know."

 

"I know, Markovson. I'll keep you apprized, and the next drop will be on schedule."

 

Bradshaw hung up the phone and leaned his forehead against the cool metal of the weather shielding that kept the payphone safe from the rain. "What the fuck are you thinking, Troy? Seriously. You've got to be out of your fucking skull."

 

 

**-3-**

* * *

 

Furia jogged up the steps of the church and ushered the younger girl ahead of her as she checked the street once more. Without a word she led Zia to the back corner of the church into the little space that Johnny claimed as his office of sorts. It was almost touching, the way _the_ Johnny Gat was trying to comfort his distraught girlfriend. Furia was nearly certain it was not something a lot of people saw from the man everyone in the gang was scared to death of, even her brother Memo.

 

Zia dashed across the room skimming Furia and ignoring Johnny as she ran straight into Aisha's arms. She watched Zia hug her older sister tightly, as Aisha ran her hands over the girl looking for injuries, while also trying not to let her go. Furia could empathize; she would respond the same way if something like that had happened to Socorro.

 

"Hey. Thanks," Johnny said quietly, taking her hand and pulling her toward him.

 

"No hay pedo," she said. When one eye narrowed, she grinned. "No problem. Glad I could help. I have a little sister, so I get it."

 

"You're all right." Johnny glanced over at the two women bawling in the corner. "Listen, I need to handle this. Call me when you got some time. I might have something for you."

 

"Sure thing. You need a hand?" Furia offered.

 

"Nah. I got this," he said with a nod.

 

Furia copied the action and turned to leave.

 

"Thank you," Aisha called across the room. "I mean it."

 

"You're welcome."

 

Walking out of the room, Furia pulled out her phone to check the time. This little excursion was not part of today's plan. "Shit," she muttered, quickly drafting a text telling Lin she would be late but with for good reason. "Hey Peaches, can I borrow your car?" she asked a wispy strawberry-blonde as she walked through the nave of the church.

 

Furia slowed but did not stop as she walked toward the door, she turned and walked backwards slowly as she waited for a response. "Come on. You know I'll treat her right."

 

"Scratch her and we're gonna scrap."

 

"You got it," the taller Latina noted. "You still driving that grape SUV."

 

"Of course. Just look for the succulent peach and you'll find my baby."

 

Furia laughed. She knew precisely what the woman was talking about and the globes hanging from the rear view mirror of the Quasar really did not look like peaches, though they were fuzzy and flesh-colored. The engine was a rebuild, or so Peaches claimed, and it rumbled nicely, Furia had to admit, but it did not make up for the way the SUV wobbled on a turn, or the fact that it was an automatic. That was the thing the driver disliked most--automatic transmissions. Maybe it was simply because she learned on a standard, maybe there was something about shifting through gears on your own that helped her think, or maybe it just made Furia feel more connected to the car, but she had a stark preference for standards.

 

As she pulled into the parking lot near Samson's shop, the young woman knew she would need to get her hands on her own sled soon. Borrowing people's rides was getting old for her as well as the people she was bumming rides and vehicles off of temporarily. She stuffed the key chain with the little fuzzy peach on it into her pocket, thinking that the owner of the vehicle really might just be taking her nickname a touch too far.

 

Furia was not even through the door of the mechanic's bay when the voice echoed off the concrete and metal. "So what's the really good reason?" Lin said quietly in a low pitch that belied her irritation at having been kept waiting.

 

"The Vice Kings are kidnapping girls off the street."

 

"What?!" the other woman snapped, her feet hitting the floor as she leaned forward.

 

"Yeah, looks like since Tanya's losing product she's decided to start taking it right off the street."

 

"That doesn't sound like King's style."

 

"Johnny and Dex are pretty sure he doesn't know. They think Tanya came up with this all on her own and that she's somehow keeping it under wraps."

 

"What's this got to do with you?" Lin asked, leaning back again and crossing her arms over her chest.

 

Furia shrugged. "I was in the wrong place at the right time. When Aisha's sister got snatched, Johnny needed someone who could tail them."

 

"I bet he did." Lin looked at Furia knowingly. She nodded then stood and crossed to the covered car. Tugging upwards at the scrub green fabric, the Saints' lieutenant said, "Give me a hand."

 

The two quickly uncovered the sleek little Zircon. Furia circled the car, admiring the customization she could see first, as Lin moved to pop the hood and show her the rest.

 

"¡Hijole! That's one hell of an engine."

 

"Yes, it is," Lin said appreciatively, eying it like some women might a half-naked man. "Stripped down, rebuilt, and bored. She's got nearly 300 horsepower and she sings so pretty. She's almost as beautiful as my car, though not quite."

 

"So, what are we doing with this lovely and why is she dressed up so nice?" Furia trailed her fingers lightly over the silhouette of the car, circling it again, this time with a careful eye and a gentle touch.

 

Lin smirked when the bay door opened and Samson walked out into the front of the shop. "Well it seems the Westside boys are just itching to try out those cars we touched up for them. They are planning to pop their cherries tomorrow night."

 

Furia pressed her palms the passenger door glass and eyed the interior. _Lin went all out_. This car was built to race and if Furia had to guess it was barely street legal if it was at all. When she looked over at Lin, noticing the glint in the other woman's eyes, Furia started to doubt it. "And me and this rice are going to take them down a peg?"

 

One corner of Lin's mouth tugged up as she stared at the engine, her hands rubbing along the edge of the hood. "Oh yeah! From what Miguel and Julius tell me you're a natural. Hell, your cousin says you can drive the wheels off anything with an engine."

 

Furia shook her head once and looked Lin in the eye. "I don't know. I've never done any racing except against Miguel when his dad wasn't around. That was on dirt and never with nothing like this. I can dodge some berries and make a run for it, but a flat out drag race? Never tried that."

 

Lin dropped the hood slowly, and latched it. "The car has all the power you need to beat these clowns. I just need someone behind the wheel who can feel her and will let her run."

 

"That I can do."

 

"That's the rumor. Just a heads up. This is not a drag race; there are some sweet straight-aways on the course they have planned, but these guys are some of their top drivers; they are looking for a challenge. They want bragging rights. Here, this is the general route." The shorter woman in blue laid the map out on the hood and stabbed at the colorful grid a few times. "I had to fucking volunteer to drive around their goddamn markers for this. So, you better appreciate it."

 

"Believe me, I'll owe you a whole bottle of the good stuff," Furia said, an absence in her voice as she leaned over the map and followed the track traced out in pencil. "Damn! They really are trailing this thing all over hell's half acre, aren't they?"

 

"Like I said. Separate the men from the boys, is their slogan for this stupid thing. I'm figuring that you can show 'em what for."

 

"Can I keep this?"

 

"It's yours, just don't bring it with. And as much as you want to, don't drive the route. They have guys watching it," Lin leaned back against the hood.

 

Furia winced, that had been her plan. She did not know the suburbs as well as she could. Usually when she boosted from this part of town she would just drag whatever heat she caught to the Southside and lose them there on more familiar ground.

 

The tall Latina ran her hand over the hood as she walked back toward the driver's door. She opted to take the chance and get acquainted with the lady. "Standard roll cage or is the frame reinforced?"

 

Lin eyed her suspiciously. "Reinforced, why?"

 

"Just curious."

 

"Do _not_ roll this work of art."

 

Furia laughed as she slid into the driver's seat. "I'd never do anything like that. But I wanted to know if I might be able to piss them off a little."

 

The grimace on Lin's face made the Latina laugh. "You can, though I'd prefer it if you didn't do too much damage, if you can avoid it. Samson's got a buyer for her. Don't want to eat too deeply into the profit if we can avoid it. Plus they aren't locking down the route so you won't be on the road alone, trading paint with them might get you into more trouble than it's worth."

 

A quick nod was all the response the woman in the driver's seat gave. She nestled back into the seat and stretched out her legs, testing the clutch once before sliding the seat up about an inch. Eyes moving over the panel and the console, she did not touch anything, yet. It was like foreplay, build up the temptation.

 

Furia ran her hands over the steering wheel in an intimate fashion. Her eyes closed as she clutched the knob gently. Part of her knew there was no chance at a test drive, but she could still cop a feel for the movement of the shift linkage and was fairly certain where the sweet spot on the clutch was after a few quick calculated movements.

 

"I'm gonna make you scream my name," Furia muttered as both hands returned to the wheel.

 

"That's what I was hoping for," Lin added, leaning on the open door.

 

The Latina felt the blush burn her cheeks, which made the blue-clad lieutenant laugh.

 

"You'll pick her up here tomorrow late afternoon. You're going here." Lin pulled a slip of paper out of her bra. "Be there by seven. And wear something … non-threatening, if you get my meaning."

 

"The lower cut the better?" Furia questioned with a grin as she climbed out of the car.

 

Lin's chuckle was more ominous. "Hell yes, want them thinking with their little head. And I'm pretty sure you can handle that."

 

"Cieramente.[i]"

 

"All right, well I'm outta here. I'll see you tomorrow night. But don't--"

 

Furia held up her hands. "I know the drill. I don't know you. You don't know me. I'm just there to race."

 

"Precisely."

 

  


* * *

[i] Cieramente -- Certainly


	5. Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lin's trust and Julius' concern butt heads when the evening of the race approaches. Furia knows the game, she knows how to handle racers, having known several of them. The sense of pride that went with being given the assignment fell by the wayside when she arrived to find, that all Julius really trusted her with was the driving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Since I have yet to determine a way to simply permanently thank Chy for her assistance and willingness to read everything, I will simply resort to adding her name in every post.

**Before I See**

**05 Games**

  
****-1-** **

* * *

The humidity felt like it was dissipating, but Troy merely attributed that to the setting sun. He was on his third cigarette by the time the white convertible pulled up. Furia got out of the passenger side but immediately leaned back into the car as the top started to peel back. Straightening again, she pulled a clip out of her hair and tousled it a little, the soft waves framing her face. Bradshaw would have been fine if the revelations stopped there. He wondered how many oversized black hoodies she owned. When she peeled this one off, he knew precisely why she wore it in this instance and a part of him was wishing she would put it back on.

The white sheer lacy top did not even attempt to camouflage the vibrant red of her brassiere. She waved a couple of fingers at the driver of the car when she crossed around the front of the breezer. Troy was instantly aware that he was not the only person transfixed by the low-cut, skin-hugging denim shorts that could only generously be called daisy dukes. And the stilettos just accentuated the length of her legs.

"Damn, girl. You know those Roller fuckers are going to trip over their tongues," Marco called, leaning on the car door watching the sway of her hips.

"You mean like you?" she chided with a quick glance over her shoulder.

Troy flicked another finished cigarette into the parking lot as his jaw tightened. When he realized he was gritting his teeth, he shook his head, chastising himself and ducking into the garage. As her eyes met his, her pace slowed and the playful smile seemed to falter.

"What's up?" she asked as she entered the bay.

"From what I know, you have a party to crash and a race to win."

"Si, but …"

He could see the question in her furrowed brow, hell, he had already asked it twice. "Julius doesn't want you going in there alone. This isn't Dex's sort of thing, and the Rollerz know Johnny on sight."

"Fuck, everybody knows Johnny."

"So, the job falls to me," Troy said.

Furia looked up at him and there was a trace of fire in her eyes and a sharpness to her tone. "Fine. Give me five minutes."

The ring of his phone was almost a welcome relief from the sudden chill, but even as he spoke to Julius about the boss' expectations, Troy could not help but watch her closely. Her fingers trailed lightly over the car as she moved slowly around it. When she leaned close, he would have sworn she was talking to it, while rubbing her while hands lovingly over the finish. When the idea flashed in his mind, he shut it down quickly. The last thing he needed to consider was her flirting with a car-another car, he corrected remembering her considerable interest in the Bootlegger currently parked behind Samson's shop. Though there was a part of him that was suddenly intensely jealous of that shiny red Zircon.

He finally had to turn his back on the scene. The look on her face was seductive, the movements of her hands tender and careful, and the bare sultry curve of those red lips saturated and addled his brain. Troy suddenly found himself actually praying for the strength to get through the next few hours then he could find a cold shower and enough whisky to muddle it all.

When the engine revved, he looked back, realizing too late the mistake.  _Goddamnit_. She pressed the gas again and the vehicle rumbled deeply. Her head leaned back against the seat, eyes closed, lips parted. If he were to imagine her in his bed, he would be hard pressed to have imagined that type of reaction. He swallowed at the lump in his throat and took a deep, slow breath as he flicked his cigarette away.

 _This might have been a mistake_ , he thought, after watching her with the vehicle. He could have sent someone else.  _Fuck_ , he could have sent Marco, or Paulie, even Mikey D. Bradshaw still was not entirely sure why he had not pawned off this job to someone else.

The window lowered as she pulled up to Troy. "You want some candy, mijo," Furia said with a playful grin that was a trying mix of seductive and sweet. When he slid into the passenger seat, she eyed him quickly and said, "I never would have figured you for a hipster."

"Fuck you," he said with an uneasy laugh tugging at the collar of the black brushed cotton shirt he was wearing.

"In your dreams," she replied sharply.

The sudden bite in her voice caught him off guard and he looked at her for a moment as her hands squeezed at the steering wheel, as she chewed on her bottom lip. When Furia glanced over at him, it took her a moment to find her voice. "You know, Marco's probably still in the neighborhood. I could call him and then you wouldn't have to put yourself out."

"What are you talking about?"

"I get it Julius has his reasons to send someone with me, whatever. Marco would at least be able to pretend it wasn't a chore."

Troy shook his head. "The boss wants someone he trusts. And I could have sent any of half a dozen guys on this gig. But there is one way you and I are alike. When someone asks me to do something,  _I_  do it myself."

"You do realize, you're going to have to pretend to be into all this shit," she replied, quickly looking away with her own accidental implications.

Pursing his lips, he pressed his palm along the top of his thigh as he eyed the darkening horizon. "Believe me, you'd be surprised how well I can act."  _You and everybody else_ , he thought for a moment as the engine idled.

"¡Dios! Whatever you say, jefe."

Before he could respond she had slipped the little street racer into gear and anything he might have said would have been drowned out by the engine. He did not know what had soured her mood. Hell, as much as she loved to drive, he would have imagined this was something she would enjoy. Then he remembered the look on her face earlier, and realized the reason for the venom was him.

 

  
****-2-** **

* * *

Hoops galore. That was what she had already jumped through, and if there were two things Furia could handle it was this car and any Westside idiot that decided to overstep. In this type of environment, breaking some handsy guy's wrist would not be frowned on as it had been at the club.

 _I don't need a goddamn chaperone_ , she thought as she slipped out of the vehicle. Her entrance had been calculated to draw attention, and it was successful. Most of the people in attendance were ogling the red Zircon that pulled into the line and rumbled vibrantly a few times before it finally shut off. She slid the key in her pocket as the whispers started.

The confident smiles and laughter reached her ears about the time a warm hand rested on the small of her back. It caught her unawares. Her eyes met his quickly. After the comment about being the last one on the list, she expected that everyone at the gathering would suspect he was there only to watch her back. Even after his little comment about his acting skill, she figured they would be pegged for what they were. But looking up at him in that brief moment, even Furia was not entirely certain what they were.

"Hey, man! You must have some brass balls!"

Troy's hazel eyes moved from hers to thin guy in blue. "Sorry fella, you're not my type," Troy replied, pulling Furia a little closer, his hand snaking around her waist.

She felt her chest tighten when he hooked his thumb in the waistband of her shorts, letting his hand dip into her front pocket.  _Okay, the man can act_. She found her mind repeating a mantra in an effort to remind herself this was all for show.

"Not many drivers would let their bitch drive their sled, even if it was just up the road," a clean-shaven guy in shades stated. He was leaning against the European sports car next to where Furia had pulled in and his chin was resting on the shoulder of a glassy-eyed blonde who was wearing less than the Saints' driver.

"You're right. I wouldn't," Furia stated coolly.

The chorus of ooh's and ahh's was punctuated by claps and shocked laughter.

"You expect me to believe that's your rice."

For her own sanity, she wrapped her hand around Troy's and dug it out of her pocket, opting to hold onto it rather than allow it to remain perched on the front of her hip. She leaned back slightly, curving her long frame just so. "Believe what you want. But I'd be happy to prove it."

The crowd got vocal again at the challenge. But the big man just shook his head.

"Unless of course you're afraid you'll lose your papers to a girl," she chided with the cocky lift of one eyebrow.

 

- ** **3-****

* * *

Troy felt her body tense when he tucked his nose in her hair. "You might want to ease back," he whispered into her ear.

The thickly muscled man stood, pushed his girlfriend, or whatever she was, out of the way then moved toward Furia. Bradshaw straightened, and let go of her hand, just in case. The man never even glanced in the undercover cop's direction; his attention was wholly fixed on Furia, which did not ease Troy's tension or concern. His preference would have been to avoid a scene, and the fight that seemed imminent.

"You might just get your shot. We've got a little something planned tonight. You put up your car and we'll show you what racing really is, princess."

Furia took a step forward, challenging the man who was about equal in height with her due to the stilettos. "You can try. But I think you'll find I'm a little stubborn. And if you're willing to post the pink for that bucket, I'll deign to give you a shot. As long as you promise not to cry when I take your slip."

 _Sonuvabitch. That is not easing back_. The guy inched up on her, and Troy noticed a few jumpy folks in the crowd. There were at least five guys he could see clearly that had their hands in their jackets or under their shirts, and knew there were likely more itchy trigger fingers in the crowd moving toward firearms. His experience, both as a cop and with the Saints, told him this could get ugly fast. He also know that in that place, at that time, there was next nothing he could do to contain it.

Troy tensed up when the Roller flipped Furia's hair over her shoulders. Bradshaw had to hand it to her, though; she did not flinch, not even when the guy trailed his finger down her neck. Troy's blood was boiling and he had to keep reminding himself why they were standing there. Furia grabbed the Roller's hand and twisted it slightly when it reached her collar bone.

"You've got to prove you've you can drive, before you ride this ride, cabrón," she said in a husky purr that was intensified by the way she rolled her Rs.

"Now,  _that_  is a reason to race," the man growled deeply.

Troy did not like the game Furia was playing. But thankfully the little showdown was broken up by some kid in a mechanic's suit.

When she leaned against the side of the Zircon, Troy stood over her, closer than he normally would have, but he did not want to chance anyone else stepping into their conversation. He pressed his palms against the hood on either side of her, setting his lips near her ear. "What the hell was that?"

Her hand rested on the back of his neck, as she mimicked his proximity to her. Her cheek against his, her fingers warm against his skin, then her breath tickling his ear, it combined to entice him even more than the reaction she had to the car. "Racers are like boosters. They like to talk shit. And if you back down, you lose all credibility." She leaned back and looked up at him; Troy was intensely aware of her hand on his cheek. "It's like so many things in life, you have to pay to play. Trust me. I know guys like this, and I know what I'm doing."

Slipping out of the little protective bubble he had her in, Furia walked away from the car. But she was swift enough on the uptake to realize that staying in his sight line was a necessity. He watched her approach a group of females who were all smiling widely and looking at the long-legged Latina with a mix of shock and admiration. It was a sentiment he could appreciate. Furia was startling in every sense of the word-dangerously so.

 

  
****-4-** **

* * *

The little confrontation may have left her marked as other, but at least she was not an outcast. They saw her as a racer, though she knew none of them saw her as an actual adversary, even if she had squared off with one of their boys and not backed down. To them she was little more than an easy mark and the confrontation was merely her ticket to the line. The smirk the big guy had given her told her all she needed to know; they bought it and saw her as nothing more than some sweet piece with a car to lose.

Troy still looked uneasy when she returned to the Zircon. Furia guessed his nervousness was due to the fact that this was not his scene. Spending time in Miguel's garage she had known a fair number of both racers and boosters. For the most part they had similar mentalities-giant egos and confidence for days. Furia did not subscribe to the their typical brand of bravado. She had always been an actions-speak-louder-than-words kind of girl, but she knew the value of playing the game.

Most of the drivers were perched on or around their vehicles, protectively watching over their interests. Her eyes skimmed the line. The five cars she had intercepted a few days earlier were all parked together and a crowd gathered around them. The smirk on her lips was instinctual.  _Yeah! Enjoy 'em, while you got 'em, boys._

Troy's interest had been drawn to the group as well, and when she touched the cold bottle to his forearm his eyes snapped to hers. Holding the bottle up, she smiled at her tense-looking companion before he snatched her peace offering. He took a long pull on the beer as she slid onto the hood of the car beside him.

"For God's sake, relax," she said quietly, leaning toward his shoulder as she spoke.

Bradshaw draped his arm over her legs, touching her but not at the same time. She knew it for what it was-an expected show of possession. They both had their own game plans for this evening; this was part of his. She had to be the scantily-clad racer girl, and he had to convince these fools she was more than just some girl. Looking around she could see it. His game was a good as hers; in this crowd, they all thought she was his. Of course, she knew that, by extension of that assumption, they saw the rice as his. It was also possible they might blame their loss on him too, but she knew that would not come into play. Once the race was done, the two Saints would be headed back to the Southside.  _No one's collecting pink slips tonight._

"It is a little hard to relax when in the first five minutes you piss off their whole crew."

"They aren't pissed," she argued with a little laugh, reaching across him and stealing the beer she had brought him. After taking a sip, she laid it against the front of his shoulder and he took it back. "They think I'm a big mouthed whore, and, more importantly, they think they are going to gank my whip. Though the big guy might believe he has a chance at something more."

"Well, he should rethink that," Troy muttered.

Furia was taken aback by the note of protectiveness in his tone. Unsure precisely how to read the statement and the implication, she chalked it up to that acting ability he hinted at earlier. Though she did have to wonder if it was part of the games they were playing. Her eyes skimmed the activity around them, trying to distract herself from the fact that there was a very real part of her that did not want the undertone to be part of the act.

"What time is it?" she asked quietly, when she noticed a pair of girls in blue jackets run down the line toward the five cars the Saints had modified.

The sensation of him leaning over her like he had been was not something she expected to miss until he straightened and dug around in his pockets for his phone. When he showed it to her, she tried to keep her mind on what she was supposed to be doing and off of him, which was made all the more difficult by his cologne. She just hoped she could block it out by the time the race started.

"Almost time," he said, still holding the device toward her.

"Thank God. These heels are killing me," she noted with a relaxed smile, which he returned too easily for her own good.

Troy laughed lightly. "I was wondering how you were going to drive in those."

"I'm not." When a young kid in blue nodded at her, Furia slid off the hood and walked around the car. "You ready for the ride of your life?" she asked as she opened the driver's door.

When he slid into the passenger seat, she caught him by surprise. Troy pressed back against the seat as if he had been bitten as her hand slipped between his knees, dropping her stilettos on the floorboard. "Can't have them knocking around near the pedals," she explained as Troy shifted.

"Buckle up." Her tone was light as she pulled on her unlined leather gloves. They were thin and well worn, offering her the grip she would need to maintain control of the wheel the entire time. Street racing was not something she knew all that well, and sweaty hands would not be helpful.

The other vehicles came up to the line and the little kid in the blue football jersey walked her to her spot, then tapped on the hood to tell her to stop. With a glance at Troy she noticed he was holding two points of the harness oddly. She giggled softly and helped him out. "So, I take it racing isn't in your wheelhouse either?"

Looking at her with wide eyes, his hand slipped into his pocket.

"No dice, Troy. Can't have the windows down." She refastened her own harness then looked down at the center console. Patting his thigh lightly, Furia said, "Straighten your leg, and if you have to grab something just keep it on that side of the car."

"What?"

"This will be a little faster than that police chase, and there's a slimmer margin for error, so I need room to work."

Two girls were arguing near the front of the group, until the big guy from earlier intervened. "All right gorgeous," Furia murmured, her palms moving over the wheel. "We can do this. Smooth as silk, chiquita." Despite her heart pounding in her chest, the driver tried to slow her breathing down. "Think slow, Furia. It's yours."

 

  
****-5-** **

* * *

Troy was just watching her caressing the wheel and as the car lurched forward it caught him unawares. He grabbed the arm rest in the center and braced his other hand against the roof. When her elbow hit his forearm, he understood why she had told him to keep his hands on his side of the vehicle. Her glare was momentary, just enough to tell him she did not appreciate his presence in her space. He opted instead to grab one of the harness points, which he was suddenly and powerfully glad for as she wove between cars, tossing him left and right against the restraints.

"You'd think they'd find a track for this shit or something," he said more loudly than he intended as one of the cars in front of them nicked a station wagon.

"Not as much of a challenge," she replied dryly. By her tone it was clear to him that she was not actually participating in the conversation, merely responding from some less than conscious place in her brain. Her eyes made a quick circuit-mirror, road, side mirror, road, driver's side mirror, road. Each stop on the road was markedly longer than the time spent on the mirrors.

"Whoa!"

Furia dodged not only the blue Zomkah that had aimed for their red Zircon, but also a little white convertible brimming with young blondes.

"These fuckers are crazy."

"No, they are male. Having a female put them in their place is a little damaging to the ego," she noted as she made a sharp left onto the wide avenue that ran under the L. She shook her head once, the little grimace telling Troy she was not pleased with the maneuver.

"Come on, you bastard. Come and get me." Her eyes went to the rear view mirror again, staying there longer than usual. When the dark grin curved her features, Troy turned in time to see the car behind them surge forward then it seemed to lose control and veered into the park before it exploded.

"Holy shit! Damn, Lin doesn't fuck around."

Furia chuckled. "You catch hell long enough and when you get the chance for payback, you go big or go home."

 

  
****-6-** **

* * *

Downshifting, she slid into another turn; accelerating down the wide sidewalk, she dodged the thin tree in the center. Most of the area was clear because the race leaders had already scared the hell out of the pedestrians there. As she clipped the turn, it put her in the position to slip past another Zomkah.  _Lin was dead on. This car has the power to make the Rollerz cry in their transmission fluid_.

At the intersection, she saw two blue machines slip into the oncoming lane to make the right, but Furia took another option. Steering up the driveway of a little convenience store, she turned onto the sidewalk then cut through the empty grassy lot, while two other drivers got stuck behind her at the intersection she had avoided.

Shifting smoothly into fifth as the group climbed onto the freeway, she was glad Troy was a quick learner. Though the knuckles of his hand wrapped around the harness strap were white, he kept himself on his side of the car after the early slip. Knowing this was one of the straights that Lin had told her to expect, Furia decided to open her up.

"All right, baby, let's see what you have for me." When she glanced to her right to check the mirror, she caught sight of the look on Troy's face. "I've heard closing your eyes can help, but not always," she offered. She tapped the button on the console and took a deep breath before punching the button near the wheel.

Nitrous was not as uncommon to her as street racing, but it was something she still only had limited history with. When she saw the two cars start to pull away from her, she knew she needed to close the gap and this was going to be one of the few places she would have the chance, at least according to the map she spent the previous night studying. Furia kept her hands tightly on the wheel as the speedometer needle surged into the triple digits.

The explosions in the distance suggested she was not the only driver with that plan. The other Zircon in the race and a surprising little Voxel were still in this. Once the trio of cars hit the aqueduct she was on their heels, and the driver of the white Voxel was aware she was there. He also seemed aware of the explosions, because he kept skimming her nose whenever Furia tried to creep up on him.

"Time to test that reinforcement," she muttered as she dropped back into third, making the engine whine a little. "I know, sweetie, I know."

The next time he swerved past her she surged forward and turned into him when he repeated the maneuver meant to hold her off. "Motherfucker," she said calmly, waving at him and offering a condescending little smile as she sped through his spin.

"Think you can toy with me?" She glanced in the mirror, he recovered faster than she expected. "Hell, he's pretty good."

The moment he hit the button it was almost like she could see the explosion already, though she knew it was her imagination. As he closed on her, she found it hard to even worry about him. That car was out, even if the driver did not know it yet, and her sights were on the blue Zircon with the white and gold scrolling.

"Now it's just you and me."

 

  
****-7-** **

* * *

Bradshaw just held on. He knew nothing she had to say was directed at him. If she was not talking to the car, she was talking to the other drivers, taunting them in ways they could not be aware of, but doing it all the same. The blue car made a turn ahead of them, bouncing his rear bumper off a bus.

"Fuck!" she yelled spinning the red rice to a near stop.

Slipping it into second she ran through the gears quickly as she gave chase. The thin street and the traffic drove both vehicles onto the sidewalk.

"Get back here you slippery bastard," she growled. Her laughter was sinister when she finally caught him and tapped his bumper. "That's right. I'm still here, princess."

When she dashed back onto the street, barely missing the minivan she cut off in the incoming lane, Troy gasped again. There was no traffic in her lane for several blocks and she took advantage of the clear road. Hazarding a glance at the Rollerz' driver, Troy saw him slam a hand on the steering wheel before the car slipped into a blind spot.

The blast was louder than expected and when the undercover cop moved to see why, he noticed that the blue Zircon was not the only vehicle that had been caught in the explosion. Up to that point, it had seemed that every car they took out was a solo casualty. Letting the race go long enough to get into Chinatown had been a mistake he realized as the black smoke billowed between the buildings.

He pressed his head back into the seat and watched her slam a palm against the steering wheel. A glance at her face revealed she was as unnerved by that turn of events as he was.

"Fucking idiot," she grumbled lowly. "You didn't have the clearance, why did you even try it?"

"What happened?"

"He hit the button, but if he hadn't been stupid he would have been able to dash up the sidewalk and just blown up himself, hopefully. But he had to try and get back on the road. Hit a goddamn truck and took out the entire intersection." She hit the steering wheel again as she slowed the Zircon to a less attention-getting speed. "That was not how this was supposed to play out!"

"No shit!" When she glanced over at him, he added, "No way to know precisely how something like this would go down. Too many variables. You couldn't know he was  _that_ stupid."

 _Of course that still doesn't change the fact that four cars went up with that Zircon._ He peeked in the side mirror again, but the only thing he could still see were hints of the orange blaze and the oily rolling smoke. Troy was almost certain this was going to warrant a phone call. When Furia turned on the radio, he dug into his pocket desperately in need of what he had been denied for the entirety of that nerve shredding ride.

 

  
****-8-** **

* * *

When the garage door lowered, Lin slipped into the bay to survey the state of the car. She could not help but wince at the dent in the quarter panel and the thick scrapes to the front end. One good thing-Furia had not fucked up the engine during the little display. That had sounded fine when they pulled in.

"I asked you not to destroy her," Lin griped.

"Yeah, well, the guy in the Voxel was a bit of a blocker."

"Oh, Smitty, huh? Glad to know he is a stain on the pavement finally. Though I wish he was around so I could kick his ass for doing this to her. Goddamn touchy feely cocksucker," Lin mumbled as she raised the hood. "How'd she drive?"

"She glides. Absolutely gorgeous."

Lin looked over at Troy. "Did you enjoy the ride?"

He glared at her as he exhaled a steady stream of smoke. "Let's just say it was an experience."

"Yeah, I bet," Lin replied with a smirk. When Furia ducked back in the car, Lin crossed to Troy. "Watch yourself. Julius has plans for that one."

"I've noticed."

"Yeah, well, just keep your distance. You wouldn't want anyone to misinterpret."

Troy leaned toward her when the driver emerged, heels in hand and walked across the cavernous space toward the back door. His eye met Lin's hard gaze. "That was-," Troy stated

"That was overstepping," Lin noted with a tilt of her head. "You of all people should know not to fuck with Julius' plans."

"It was for show, Lin."

"You just keep telling yourself that, Troy," the dark-eyed woman replied with a heavy note of disbelief.

Lin watched him cross to the door Furia had passed through. She shook her head.  _Not smart, man. That one is not what you're expecting_. Lin liked the Latina-she could fight and she could fucking-well drive. And from what Lin had seen and heard up until tonight, Furia was not fooling around. The woman seemed intent on making her own bones, and not leeching off of anyone else. Lin smiled, checking over the rest of the car, it reminded her of the way she had come up-scraping for every inch she got.


	6. Preoccupation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idle is not an accusation that could be cast at Furia. One advantage to being busy--she can more easily avoid those things that she is struggling against.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual hearty thanks to Chyrstis.

**Before I See**

**06 Preoccupation**

**-1-**

* * *

 

The electronic ringing broke the wonderful and rare silence. Furia tried to find her cell phone without actually opening her eyes, but so far all she had managed was to knock the clock and what sounded like the lamp to the floor. But she found it by the fifth ring and groaned as she answered the call.

"Hey, girl, you sound fabulous." The caller's tone was thick with sarcasm.

"This better be good, Peaches."

"Does fun count?"

Furia leaned up on her elbows and rubbed her forehead with one hand. "Maybe."

"I need to know if you might boost a car for me."

Squinting, the woman sat up and kicked off her sheets. "I'm listening."

"Not over the phone. I'll buy you breakfast. Meet me at Monroe's around the corner from the church."

"Give me like thirty minutes," Furia replied.

"Sure thing. See ya there."

Halfway through conditioning her hair she heard her phone ringing again in the other room.  She decided not to even try, because as tired as she was Furia figured there was a higher chance of her breaking her neck in the attempt than her actually reaching the phone before it got to voicemail. Donning the usual--baggy jeans, lace-up boots, paired with a purple scoop neck tee and her typical black hoodie to camouflage the holster she now always carried.

When she checked her phone, her lips pursed. There was no voicemail, but there was a text: _3pm the abandoned lot outside of town. Bring that Vice._

She snapped the phone closed and plopped on the corner of the bed, resting her chin on her knuckles. _Damnit_. Furia had managed to steer clear of him for the last few days. After the combination of the race and the awkward drive home, she just needed a breather. Going from that easy way the two of them had invaded one another's personal space at that Rollerz event, to the isolationist response they opted for later just made it all the more confusing. Anyone who would have seen the two of them at the event and then in his car later that night would have been hard pressed to believe they were the same two people. That little Bootlegger felt huge for the amount of space they seemed to put between themselves on that relatively silent drive back to the Southside.

Though that reaction did serve to convince her that his assessment of his acting ability was dead on, which frustrated her more than she wanted to think about. Surprisingly, she found him to be a shockingly decent guy. That particular consideration was troubling in its own right. Furia found her head littered with questions and considerations she had not given any kind of credence to in more than a year, after she dropped Alonzo like a hot rock.

That was the one that pushed her to the decision that she just did not have time for the extra drama--from a guy or from her family in conjunction with the same. So even before she joined the Saints, her life just did not have room for an extra person. Her six siblings and various other relatives that ebbed and flowed in and out of the picture took up most of her time and energy after work. Then, with the crazed schedule she was running for the gang, which mostly consisted of running odd jobs until she was on the verge of passing out from sheer exhaustion, throwing another person into the mix did not seem viable--even more so with Troy Bradshaw.

The issue was not dating a lieutenant in the organization, per se. None of them were celibate from what she observed and overheard. Aisha was with Johnny, but then she was not really a Saint in the sense of being canonized. She was like some of the other women on the fringe. Dex had a new girl every week or so, but the same was true about them. It seemed that one could latch on to a lieutenant easily, if one was not a soldier.

And even if she was reading too much into it, there was no way Memo would take kindly to his sister seeing the guy in charge of his crew, or really any guy in purple, or at all. Her brother was a little on the overprotective side, truth be told they all were. Even Gabriel, who had been a skinny little twelve-year-old at the time tried to intimidate her last boyfriend. It had been hilarious, because when Alonzo had seemed unperturbed the twins--who were close in height and build to Memo had flanked Gabriel looking like the toughest back up anyone could need. Furia smiled at the thought. Her brothers--they were all so different, but in a heartbeat they were right there if they were needed, even though the last seven years they had mostly all lived apart.

_No! No time for this._ She sighed deeply and pushed herself back off the bed. Dating had usually been fairly easy for Furia, but her interest in Troy was anything but. Part of her hated that her head was all tied up in the potential politics of it all, but she had been trying to resolve herself to just trying to ignore the giddy nervous girl that seemed to spring up every time she heard his voice or caught a whiff of his cologne.

 

**-2-**

* * *

 

The cheesy fifties and sixties be-bop seemed to match the fading aqua and green interior of the diner. There was chrome along the edge of the counters and around the little barstool seats at the counter. The smell of bacon and ham were prevalent. About a dozen people sat separately and grouped in booths and at the counters--they were all regulars.

When two others, wearing purple, walked in the door, Peaches nodded--a courtesy, acknowledgement of shared allegiance. Then she looked back out the window watching the pedestrians as her vibrantly purple acrylic nails tapped out a rhythmic pattern on the linoleum tabletop. Her leg bounced nervously. Uncertainty taunted her. She could not even be sure Furia would do this, but, God, did she hope she would.

Peaches did not like owing people, which was something she and Furia had in common. Well, that and a love of good tequila. But this was not business, this was personal. The two of them never really talked about those sorts of things. Sure gossiping around the stained-glass was one thing, and everyone knew Furia was Memo's older sister and Miguel was their cousin. But that was really all the information anyone really had on the woman as far as Peaches knew, though there were rumors that Marco was chasing her, which he denied of course.

"Sweetie, if you're gonna sit here, you're gonna have to order something," the older waitress said, pulling Peaches out of her thoughts. The older brunette snapped her gum in the silence that spread between them.

"Can you get me two cups of coffee? My friend should be here any minute. I swear," Peaches replied, trying not to be rude. She had waited more than her fair share of tables, so she understood the drill and she knew that the cook was probably back there riding the woman about the silly girl in the booth not eating.

When the cups were filled a few minutes later, the prodigal friend arrived. "See. Told ya."

"All right, sweetie. Just order something soon, okay?"

"We will."

"Buenos dias, Marta. How are the boys?" Furia greeted.

_Does she know everyone on this side of town?_ Just about any time she went anywhere with Furia, the older woman knew someone, no matter where they went--strippers at this club, bartenders at this tavern, waiters, waitresses. Even a few dock workers they ran into at a bar that bought them drinks all night with no expectation of taking one or both of them home. It was a little crazy.

The waitress spun and grinned widely. "¡Dios Mio!" She took Furia's face in both her hands and kissed her cheeks. "They are good. Hector's on the honor roll."

"That's amazing."

"How are your brothers?"

"Busy. The twin are gearing up for football. Socorro's back in art classes. And Gabriel is taking an engineering seminar this fall after school. Max is flying out this weekend. He is so excited."

"Those boys are too smart for their own good," Marta noted.

"You're telling me." Furia looked over at her friend. "Do you know what you want? I'll have the usual," Furia said flatly.

"Uh yeah," Peaches added. "Just eggs scrambled with bacon and toast."

"Sure thing, ladies. And give my love to your family," Marta replied, pinching Furia's cheek.

"Hey Jay," Furia called, with a wave over her shoulder toward the kitchen, as she slid into the booth across from the younger strawberry-blonde. "So what's up?"

Peaches was still trying to catch up to how much information she had just inadvertently learned about Furia. But she set it aside and returned to the reason she had called her friend.

"I want you to steal my ex's car."

"Your ex. Wasn't he your boyfriend last night?" Furia asked, tearing open to packets of sugar for her coffee.

"Yeah, until he got a call at oh-dark-thirty and I found his ass in the parking lot with some whore's mouth on his cock."

Furia stopped pouring cream in her coffee and stared up at Peaches for a moment. "I could see that securely placing him in the ex category."

Peaches nodded vehemently. She could still see it--him leaned back on the hood and that skeletal twat just bobbing up and down, while slurping like a suckling pig. _Fucking bastard and his little slut collection_. She tried not to think too hard about the fact that she could count herself among that particular group. Peaches knew his reputation beforehand, but she figured Leo would never to that to her.

The moment she wondered if any of the others might have thought the same thing, she shook her head violently. _No, fuck them. Fuck him. And fuck his little cock on wheels._

"So, what kind of car are we talking?" Furia asked as she stirred her cup slowly, the spoon ringing off the ceramic.

"Big ass Compton, completely tricked out. It's his baby," Peaches revealed in a tone dripping with ire and a touch of jealousy. "I might not be able to cut off his pecker, but I can cube his car."

"Whoa! I don't have those kinds of connections."

"Don't worry about that. I already called in a favor from a friend. Her cousin works down at one of the car yards and you just have to bring it to the yard and he'll do the rest," the younger Saint explained.

Their plates arrived before Furia could say anything else, and she just stared at Peaches for a long time before agreeing.

"I'm only agreeing to do this because it's you. No one knows about this, right?" Furia stated, pointing the fork at Peaches.

The redhead could tell by the look in her eye that Furia was completely serious. If her friend wanted it unknown, then so be it; as long as it got done. "Not a soul."

"Good. And no one better find out."

 

**-3-**

* * *

 

After having Peaches drop her off a few blocks away, Furia strolled up the street and easily found the Compton. She leaned against a wall across the street, after having walked past it slowly, and realized she must be out of her head. There was no way she was going to get this car out of here. The street, while it was not packed, did have a steady stream of people. The top was up, so she would have to bar the door. The only saving grace to this entire fiasco was that it was an older model and she might not have to strip the wires, though somehow she doubted she was that lucky.

_Friends suck sometimes, especially the vengeful ones,_ She thought as she unzipped the little bag she was carrying. Quickly threading the thin metal device up her sleeve, while in the relative protective anonymity of the alley, she took a deep breath and pulled a Barney--stop, look, and listen, before she walked across the street. The movements were familiar and quick. She had practiced and used them longer than she would admit to and on many different vehicles, so it was like second nature. The nice thing was that no one walking by seemed to notice how she got the door unlocked. _One point in my favor._

The alarm, however, was a different story. But she ignored it. This was not some Eiswolf or expensive European model what would lock out the starter. She would just be obvious until the engine kicked the damn blaring sound off.

"Come on girl," she coaxed as she tried the ignition. "Oh, you sexy thing." _Two points. Didn't even have to break out the wire cutters._ The engine roared to life, and as Furia put her hand on the gear knob she caught sight of someone in the rearview mirror. The guy was shirtless and his face vaguely familiar. _Fuck!_ She threw it in gear, rather than waiting for the alarm to die off.

"This is going to suck," Furia observed when she noticed the cruiser turn the corner. "¡Dios! I hope he didn't just make you look pretty," she told the car.

This was a target rich environment for the black and white, between the Compton driving off with the alarm still blaring and the half-naked bastard with a gun. The first shot cracked the back windshield of the car she had stolen, but Leo seemed to be as bad a shot as Furia. Truthfully, it did not really matter what drew the cop's attention first, because as soon as the lights came up, she took off.

One thing she was thankful for was the lack of a passenger. It was one thing to watch the reaction of someone who was a bad or fairly normal driver. But if you put two people who considered themselves talented drivers in the car that was an exercise in annoyance. Furia could almost not drive with Memo, as a driver or a passenger, because one or the other of them would sit there and make judgmental little tsks and sighs at the driver, which would undoubtedly lead to a confrontation after the ride.

The Compton did not have as much under the hood as she knew was possible. It sounded good, but she was fairly certain Leo had probably paid more to have it sound beefy than to actually make it so. That did not matter as much as the fact that the barge limited her options. So she had to resort to a lower speed game of who-knows-this-neighborhood-better with the cops. She ducked down wide alleys, up drives between houses that she knew went straight through. It took a little longer to lose them this way than she would have preferred, but eventually everyone makes mistakes, even more so when following someone who is seemingly driving like an idiot.

But that was one of the reasons she liked to drag people back to the Barrio, Sunnyvale, or the Row. She spent her whole life there and could lose anyone in the alleys, side streets, and shortcuts that only natives knew. One wrong turn on the wrong street and she was home free. And without fail she always managed to get the cops to miss the turn.

Furia's driving became much more cautious and less attention-getting as she turned toward the docks. She was more than familiar with the yard Peaches' connection worked at, and all she needed to do was get there without getting noticed by anymore of Stilwater's Finest.

"Dime,[i]" she said when the phone rang again.

"If I forgot to tell you, nice job the other night. The Rollerz were pissed. Not only about the cars, but because you were actually good. One of the guys was bitching that girls weren't supposed to know how to drive."

"Thanks . Things going okay? Or do you have something else for me?"

"I do have one thing for you. An address. There's a storage facility south of the dome. Westside keeps some of their high performance cars there, and a few other _valuables_."

"Ah, and you would like those cars not to be there."

Lin chuckled, there was an incredibly ominous characteristic to it. "Take it all apart. The cars, their crew. Then we can move some of our boys in there to keep it locked down. Expand out influence."

"Sure thing." She glanced at the phone, checking the time. It was possible she might be able to get it done before three, if she were lucky. Furia did not even consider an if-not. "I'll get it done today."

"Damn. Julius said you were on the ball, but shit. All right."

"Well, in about fifteen minutes I'll be done with a favor for a friend. And I don't have anything planned until this afternoon. So my morning is free."

Lin laughed brightly. "Then I look forward to listening to some boys in blue pitch a bitch this afternoon."

"I'll try to make it noteworthy, just for your entertainment," Furia noted.

"I must just like you," Lin replied. "Don't do anything I wouldn't."

"You know it." Furia ended the call and tucked the phone back into her pocket as she pulled into the yard.

She parked not far from the massive crusher that would turn the gaudy lime barge into a polygon of twisted metal. When she got out of the car, a young man walked out of the office located a few dozen yard away.

"That for Peaches?"

"Yep."

Furia did not stick around. She had done her part and wanted to get as far away from the hot vehicle as possible. Her phone was out again and she tapped the speed dial for the cab company. After relaying the location she promised an extra twenty, if the driver was there in five minutes or less. She hated waiting for anyone to pick her up, least of all cabs, but she still did not have her own ride yet.

It was a situation she needed to remedy, and she had enough money squirreled away that she could probably put her hands on something used outright. But she was specific and the amount of free time she would need to find a car she would want to own was much longer than she typically had. Though she also know her lack of time was due to her own choices. She could put off  tearing up that storage facility, but that was precisely one of the reasons people started calling her for work--immediate response. Her reputation was solidifying--dedicated, capable, and timely.

 

**-4-**

* * *

 

When Bradshaw walked into the church's nave, he overheard that Furia, Mikey D, and Marco were having a little chat with fellas in blue in the suburbs. Checking his watch, he again allowed himself to wonder if she was avoiding him. The last three days she had been running almost non-stop and on each of those days she was the only Saint that had not spent any amount of time at the Third Street Church.

He chased the thought away, lighting a cigarette as he strolled into the graveyard. _It has to be coincidence_ , he thought, convinced that only he was aware of his steadily growing interest in the hazel-eyed Latina. Though he would not have admitted it to anyone, hell, he barely let himself think it, Troy had actually been looking forward to their afternoon spent working on her aim. The last time had been fantastically problematic for him.

Furia freely laughed at herself. He could tell by the way she shook her head after some attempts that she was not pleased with how she fared, but she would always temper her irritation with a silly little comment or she would just laugh lightly and agree with whatever playful assessment he might offer.

The ring of his phone was a welcome distraction. "Yeah."

"Hey, Troy. It's Mikey."

Bradshaw checked the number and his chest tightened--he was on Furia's phone. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing much really."

The sound of an explosion in the background suggested otherwise.

"What the hell was that?" Troy asked a little too loudly. He drew the attention of a few other Saint's milling around the exterior of the church on the nice afternoon.

"Umm. I think one of the Rollerz must have had a grenade is all."

_That's all_.

"But that's not why I called."

_I fucking well hope not._

Mikey D coughed a few times. "Furia said to tell you she might be like fifteen minutes or so late. This is taking a little longer than she planned." There was a short pause. "Oh, fuck me."

"Mikey!"

"Yeah. Late, but she'll be there. Gotta go!"

Troy stared at the phone in shock. Mikey hung up on him. It only took a moment for Troy to suppress the astonishment. _Of course he hung up on you, they were in the middle of a firefight. You would have hung up too, though you would not have made the phone call in the first place,_ Bradshaw told himself. He knew precisely where they were, one of Johnny's boys had mentioned the storage facility, and Troy knew it was one of the Rollerz strongholds where they warehoused car parts and "recreational" supplies.

Tucking his phone back into his pocket, he considered, for a moment, taking a few guys over there to tip the odds in their favor then decided against it. As much as there was a part of him that wanted to jump into his car and tear ass to the suburbs, it was exactly what he needed not to do. When Julius told Troy to keep an eye on her, it did not mean interfering, even though the not knowing what she was doing or how it was going was made about twenty times worse by the phone call, which had been meant as a courtesy.

It took a great deal of concentration on the drive out to the modified shooting range to not detour to the storage facility. Troy managed to overrule his concern and only made one stop on the way out, though it put his arrival at the spot outside her projected timeline. When he turned up the dirt road, cresting the hill, he could not help but smile at the vehicle sitting there.

The white convertible was barren, save for a pair of purple boots he knew on sight. Her feet were propped on the backset window area of the car, whose top was down, and they tapped rather rhythmically together. As he pulled to a stop, he glanced over and she was stepping over the seat to pull the keys out of the ignition.

"Heard you had a busy afternoon," he called as he pushed his door open.

"Yeah, you could say that." Her laugh was light as she jumped out of the car.

"Strawberry or vanilla?"

She looked at him curiously.

"I could lie and say it was a peace offering. Truth is, I was starving and figured I wouldn't be a total dick."

"Vanilla," she replied with a wide grin.

Troy laughed and handed her a shake and a straw, then weighed his options before he said it. "Thought you didn't care for vanilla?"

She glanced up at him through those long eye lashes, her eyes appearing just a hair greener than usual, as she seemed to be calculating her response. "It has its redeeming qualities."

Troy knew he walked into that one. The smile was his undoing though, it usually was. There was something warm and innocent in it, alluring; something that felt so out of place considering everything else--who he was, the colors they were wearing, hell, even the reason they were out here in the middle of nowhere.

"And I can't believe you remember that, of all things." Furia hopped onto the edge of his hood and he tossed a bag at her.

"It kind of stood out. I was expecting nerves from your first time out, not relaxed snark."

"It might have been the first time I walked into that situation with that intent. But those are not the first guys I've ever met thinking with the wrong head."

Troy choked on his drink, not expecting her candor.

"Sorry," she said, covering her mouth and trying not to laugh. "Didn't realize you had such an innocent nature."

He glared at her sharply, which caused her to giggle. _Why the hell are you doing this to yourself?_ His response to her was calculated. He wanted to hear that sound, see her smile, make her comfortable around him. All the time knowing that he would have to keep his distance, there was no way he could follow this out to fruition. The tingling sensation in his chest battled against the dark emptiness in his gut--his body felt like the literal warzone of the old saying about wanting what you cannot have.

"I grew up in that part of town," she continued, "and even with more brothers, uncles, and male cousins than you can shake a stick at, I'm well versed in being cat called. So that part I'm a veteran at. Same thing with that bald nimrod from the race. Some guys just seem convinced that every girl will just instantly fall for their bullshit."

"You breaking my heart here. You mean that's not true?"

She swatted him lightly and Troy feigned injury. "Listillo,[ii]" she muttered.

Troy glanced over at her. "You do realize I don't speak Spanish, right?"

"Mmhmm." Her widening grin made him smile in response. "I was pretty sure early on there."

"So is this your way of encouraging me to learn?"

She grimaced and shook her head slightly. "No. Sometimes it just happens. Other times it is more contrived."

"I'm guessing the few I can get the gist of are the instinctual ones."

Furia laughed and nodded. "So, where are you from Troy? Because I know you didn't grow up on the Row."

"Does it really matter? It's just like here. May not be the same neighborhood I grew up in, but in a way it is, you know. Go to sleep to screams, sirens, and gunshots. Learn not to sit too close to the windows. Learn the safest route home from school. Know which colors you can't wear and whose territory you have to cut through to get home. I did and didn't grow up in Stilwater, believe me."

"So why come here and join the Saints?"

"That's not why I came to Stilwater. I was kind of looking to avoid all of this. But it couldn't be helped," he looked away quickly. It was all true. He had left Peachtree City to have a chance at his own life, to get away from his past and his family. And it was just as bad or close to as bad as Stilwater, though the violence back home paled in comparison to what was going on here.

"How do you know Julius?"

Bradshaw shifted slightly under her scrutiny. He was usually the one with all the questions, and he was not entirely comfortable being interrogated, though deep down he knew that was not was she was doing. "Kind of met him the same way I met you. In the wrong place at the right time."

"Yeah, I still owe you for that."

"Nah, you never owed me. That was a freebie," he said, balling up his empty wrapper and tossing it in the bag. "Teaching you to shoot, however. That you owe me for."

"Damn. With as bad as I am at this, it will take forever to pay off this debt." Furia slid off his hood.

While Troy grabbed what remained of the treat he brought them, she slipped off her hoodie and tossed it in the convertible. When he turned she was leaning into the car and came up with her pistol.

"I'm kind of out of rounds," she said with a wince. "But I have a few empty clips, if you still have that handy dandy box of ammunition from last time.

Troy went to the trunk and retrieved said item. "Have you cleaned that thing since the last time we did this?" The quick little facial tick told him the answer. "What are you doing after this?"

"Going home to take a shower. Peaches and some of the other girls were planning on making the rounds. I'm free in the morning."

Troy looked up trying to remember if he had anything pressing the next day, but nothing came to mind. So he agreed to meet her at her place in the morning. With that decided, they quickly refilled her clips and set to the task at hand.

 

**-5-**

* * *

 

The only good thing Furia could say was that at least she was now usually hitting the targets. Troy leaned toward her and that warm, heady, spice-tinged scent tickled her nose and rushed right to her brain. It was not the only thing about him that made her feel comfortable and not at the same time, but it was the most constant reminder that she was considering ideas she should not be.

One thing she was pleased about was having the forethought to wear a shirt that reached past her waist. His hands on her bare skin the other night had been more distracting than she really wanted to admit. Uncertain if he was aware of the effect he had on her or if there was some other cause for his caution, Furia did note that this lesson was a lot more distant. Or maybe it just felt that way because of the craziness of the other night. Furia would have sworn, though to no one other than herself, that Troy seemed to be trying to keep his distance more than the last time. It was a factor she appreciated while another part of her decried his sudden sense of propriety.

"Are you lining up the sights?" he asked with a hint of frustration in his tone.

"Yes. I think," she replied shortly; her shoulders shrugged a little as she reloaded the gun. "Look maybe this just isn't going to happen and I should stick with pray and spray weapons."

Troy laughed. "No, you just need to stop taking shooting advice from Marco. Come on. Back in your stance."

When he stood behind her, Furia tensed.

Troy set his hands on her shoulders and quietly told her to relax, as his hand squeezed once before letting go.

She could not help her thoughts. _That would be so much easier if you weren't right here_. Of course she did not say it. But she thought it and other similar ideas very loudly, as she tried to remain in complete control.

Suddenly she felt surrounded by him and it was hard to breathe normally. She could hear his voice but nothing was processing as his hands moved down her bare arms manipulating them into the right hold, adjusting her stance and her grip. Almost certain she heard him say her name, she turned her head. It was an intensely poor choice.

His eyes bored into hers, the warm golden center of the irises seeming to draw her in. Closing her eyes and turning away quickly, she also forced herself to take a step to her right, in an attempt to get out of whatever bubble his proximity placed her in. "Sorry. Lost my train of thought."

Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself and took aim--missing the first six shots she fired. After flipping n the safety, she laid the gun on the little table in front of her and leaned on it for a long moment.

"I think I might be done for this afternoon," she admitted.

"After the day you've had I can imagine," Troy replied, she was aware of the slight tension in his voice, but she paid it no heed. She did not need to see his face to feel the accusation of her foolishness.

Furia shook her head at the shiny nickel-plated Vice 9 lying on the table. _He saw it. There is no way anyone is that obtuse. Can't even manage to exercise control for an hour,_ she scolded herself. When she felt his hand on her back she reacted as if he had somehow burned her or stung her.

"Is everything all right?" he asked. The gentleness in his voice and the soft concern in his eyes tried both her patience and her resolve.

_Why do you have to be a half decent guy? Why couldn't you just be a self-involved prick or an over-confident jackass, like most the rest of the guys? Damn you, Troy._

"I'm fine. Just maybe not feeling it after that little excursion earlier," she replied in a half-hearted tone.

Troy tucked his hands in his pockets. He looked almost hurt that she had reacted to him like she had. The softness in his gaze just made everything all the more confusing for her.

Deciding quickly that this was the worst place for her to be at that particular moment, she nodded and crossed her arms before she started to back away from him slowly. "Umm… I'm going to go. Have to get Marco his car back and all, before Peaches and them show up."

"Sure."

With that thickly baited single word, Furia turned and walked quickly back to the little white breezer. She hopped over the passenger door and stepped across the seats before sliding into the driver's seat.

"You have got to be out of your ever-loving mind, girl. Memo would lose it. Antonio would have a stroke. Hell, even Miguel might get up in arms about that shit." She leaned back in the seat, arm propped on the door, as she leaned her forehead against her hand.

Furia was speeding, but she really did not care. Even if some berry did light her up, she knew Marco's car had an engine to die for. Any resulting chase would be more an exercise in control than an exercise in stupidity. Deep down she knew that no matter how fast she drove she would not be able to outrun what had her spooked. And it was something infinitely more frightening to her than any of Stilwater's Finest.  

  


* * *

[i] Dime (Dee-may) - talk to me (note, it is likely I will forget to end note this in the future, apologies in advance).

[ii] Listillo - smart ass / smart aleck


	7. Influences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mundane can be fun when you have someone to share it with, even if you're hung-over. And after taking on a job for Dex, Furia finds herself putting her own reputation on the line to save someone else's good name. Her chivalry leaves her feeling a little like a real-life crash test dummy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to the lovely Chy for her priceless assistance.

**Before I See**

**07 Influences**

**-1-**

* * *

 

The phone screamed for her attention. Furia poked her head out from under the throw usually draped over the back of the sofa, which she had pulled across her face when the sun started to take over the room. She dug the phone out of the pocket of the jeans she was still wearing from last night. Her head seemed to cramp with the movement of sitting up and she groaned, despite this she answered it without even looking at the device.

"Are you here?"

The voice jogged her memory and her eyes shot open. "What time is it?"

"Ten."

"¡Válgame dios!"

"That good, huh?"

"Something like that," she drawled and stood to check the window. It took her a moment to equalize her balance against another sharp throb to her head. Sure as hell, he was leaning on the side of that black Bootlegger looking at her building. She was not even going to ask how he knew where she lived.  "I'll buzz you in. 5B, door's open. But give me a handful of minutes. I apparently didn't make it much past the door last night."

Troy just chuckled at her. She watched him lean into his car before she crossed the room. "Been there a time or two, myself."

"I bet. See ya in a bit."

When the buzzer screeched, Furia had to wonder how she had managed to sleep through that God-awful sound the first go around. She punched him in and unlocked the door before ducking into her bedroom and locking that door to the back of the little apartment she had rented after her first few weeks with the Saints. She did it purely out of paranoia and concern for her family.  It was one thing if someone followed her here. But she did not want anyone associating her with her grandparent's old place--too much family went in and out of there for her to be connected with it except in passing.

Being one of seven kids meant she was a master at the bare bones shower--in a pinch she could get in and out in ten minutes--though she knew she was not operating at peak that morning so it was probably closer to fifteen. She tried to transition to clothed mostly awake human as quickly as possible, but Troy looked bored when she finally emerged.

"Really sorry," she said as she padded across the room, taking note of how he had laid claim to the coffee table she had rigged up with cinder blocks and plywood. There were two thick gray squares lying across the bare wood, the one in front of him looked well-used, marked by splotches of black and darker gray, whereas the other looked pristine. In the center of each lay a handgun, she guessed one was hers because she had left it on the table the afternoon before at the makeshift shooting range.

"It's all good. After what you told me yesterday I kind of expected it," he revealed, leaning forward. He handed her a small cup.

"You can't seriously be for real," she replied too quickly as she took the still warm cup out of his hands. Furia sat in front of the other spot he had laid out on the table.

Troy just laughed. He scooted to the edge of the couch and she just watched him for a moment. "I should have taught you how to clean this before now. I just figured--"

"That I had any clue about guns. ¡Ni en sueños!"

"Well, we're going to see if we can change that. You should be at least cleaning this thing once a week, though most would say every time you use it, which in your case would probably be daily."

She sipped her coffee as he cast that goddamn little grin at her. _You don't have a clue, do you? How can he be that oblivious?_ She shook her head. _Or maybe he's just being nice and ignoring it, niña tonta **[i]**._ Furia took another drink of the coffee he had brought her and eyed the precise line of items he created in the center of the table. He laid out brushes and rods and some swirly bristled thing and a roll of blue shop towels; the kind Miguel loved to have around.

"What is all this?"

"This is what's going to keep that gun from misfiring on you." He turned toward her and stole her cup. "You can have it back when you're done."

"So mean."

She scooted up toward the table and they quickly safety-cleared their weapons. That she knew how to do.

"Just point it in a safe direction and pull the trigger so we can get the slide off[ii]," Troy ordered.

He described how to grip the pistol to get the two major pieces apart, but it just was not working for her. The moment he leaned toward her reinforcing the placement of her hand with his she knew this was going to be yet another one of those battles with the rebellious side of her brain. Anytime he touched her, Furia made a concentrated effort not to look at him, trying to keep her mind precisely on what he was trying to show her.

Thankfully once she finally got the slide mechanism off the pistol it was really the last time she needed his physical assistance beyond some pointing and gesturing or re-performing an action so she could see it again. She could not decide why he, of all people, would prompt this reaction from her. He was not even her type, or so she thought.

He was tall, that fit her usual MO with guys but that was it. She had not really been lying when she insinuated she did not date white guys, because she never had. As she stuffed a few wadded up cotton squares in one end of the barrel before spraying the green can of whatever into it for several seconds she thought about it and came to the realization that the only thing her exes all had in common was that they were all over 6'1" and had been total assholes.

"Now spray the outside too. Just lightly and set it aside."

_Maybe that's it._ Troy had talked to her about her reactions to things. He showed an interest and a concern for her safety. Hell, he was sitting in her apartment with her hung-over trying to teach her how to keep her gun from blowing up in her face, even if she could barely hit anything with it still.

Troy tore a blue towel off the roll and held it out to her, while studying his own weapon in pieces in front of him. She took it and he grabbed one for himself. They cleaned the spray off their grips and their slides then turned to using cotton swabs to get in the little crevices the towel could not really reach.

Thinking about these things did not really make this any easier for her to try and ignore; in fact if anything she was pretty well certain that trying to decipher why he affected her the way he did simply made it worse.

"And this is why, you need to clean it every time you use it," he said laughing at the look on her face when she swiped the swab into a little crevice in the grip and it came out blackened. "Keep going until it comes out closer to clean than not."

"Yeah. But I'm still not sure I can get the slide off on my own."

"Then when we finish, you can practice taking it apart over and over."

She cast a sidelong glance in his direction. "You really know how to show a girl a good time, damn."

Troy just chuckled. "Oh, I have more tricks up my sleeve than gun maintenance trust me."

Furia just smiled and moved her eyes back to the slide. Much easier to pretend he was just anyone else when she did not look at him, though even then it pretty much failed. Between the voice and the smell of him she could never mistake Troy Bradshaw. "How's that look?"

Grabbing another swab, he swiped the cotton over the surfaces of the slide before declaring it clean and directing her to turn her attention to the recoil spring, after which they would finish with the barrels.

 

**-2-**

* * *

 

"¡Caracoles!"

Troy just laughed at her reaction to the result of the first slide of the barrel brush through the barrel. "Just swipe it through a few more times."

She looked at him with a raised eyebrow as if he was suggesting it just to be an ass.

"You want to make sure you get it as clean as possible," Troy advised. He grabbed a few cotton patches and folded them in half before threading them in the cleaning rod.

"This is just--"

"The result of not cleaning it for a few weeks. Pass this through five or six times to clean it out the rest of the spray and dry it." He held out the rod to her and she forced the swabs through the barrel several times.

He walked her through the oiling of the parts and the reassembly. It took probably five times longer than it usually took him, but then he had been doing this sort of thing since he was a kid. Then he talked her through removing the slide again. The first few times he had to actually help, not that he minded. Bradshaw knew he should back off, but even if Julius had not told him to help her out, somehow he knew he would be anyway.

This was not her thing--guns, violence, gangs. Despite that Furia was taking to it like a duck to water, but it did not seem like it was the kind of life she should have been destined for. Sure, she grew up on the Row, but she had been in school. There was something else out there for her, but then things went sideways. It was a feeling he knew and understood. _You make plans for your world then one thing can topple the whole mess around your feet._

"Keep the web of your hand under here, Then wrap your index finger over the top," he said, leaning closer to her and setting his hand over hers.

The faint hint of vanilla was tempting, he guessed it was her soap or her shampoo, but it was familiar--something he had come to associate with her.

"Yep, there you go. Now, slide it back on, make sure you line it up. Then try it again." Troy moved away from her again.

As much as part of him was incredibly concerned about her knowing how to use and handle a gun, there was a very greedy part that enjoyed the time he got to steal with her precisely because she was an amateur. It took more self-control than he realized he had to keep himself in check, to not kiss her when she looked up at him with those intense hazel eyes rimmed in that tempting shade of emerald. Too many times he could have closed that distance and tumbled past the line of all rationality.

A few more tries and she had it down. She really did pick all of this stuff up too easily.

"And I have to do this every day?" she asked as she reloaded the weapon and checked the safety, before she laid it on the table.

"At least every other, but you don't want to leave it much longer than that, especially with a rep like yours."

"And what rep is that?" she asked as she crossed the room.

"From my understanding, Mr. Xiang at Friendly Fire gives you a volume discount on ammo, or should be," he chided, leaning back against the sofa watching her as she entered the kitchen.

"If you touch my furniture with that grease on your hands, I'll beat you with a shoe."

Troy held his hands out in front of him, but complied. "Considering that couch looks like you picked it up off the corner, I don't think it would hurt."

She flicked suds at him and glared as he approached. "It came with the apartment, actually," she explained rinsing her hands before allowing him the use of her sink.

"Has it been here since the place was built?" he called as she rounded the corner.

"Not funny," she replied from the back of the tiny apartment.

A few minutes later, Furia came back out of the bedroom and gathered up her weapon, sliding the Vice 9 into the holster she carried it in. She caught him inspecting the pictures decorating the bookcase across the room. Before he could even ask about them she was beside him, leaning past his shoulder.

"Me and Memo, you can probably guess. That's Maximo he's going to be a freshman at Eastern Polytechnic. The twins Enrique and Emilio are going to be seniors this year. Gabriel's the baby, he's a freshman. And Socorro … she's a sophomore."

Troy heard the bittersweet twinge when she mentioned her sister. "Seven of you? How far apart?"

"Memo, Max and the twins, and then Socorro and Gabe are Irish twins. Just over a year between them all." She laughed lightly. "Abuelita always said Mama loved my father a little too much."

"What about between you and Memo?"

"Three years."

"Were you more trouble than the others?"

She looked up at him aghast at the suggestion. "No, surprisingly. He was on deployment, a hardship tour I think is what Mama called it."

"He was in the service?" Troy glanced back at the shelf looking at the pictures. There was a photo of her with two older women that she favored a bit, he guessed that was her mother and grandmother. But none of the family pictures seemed to have men in them, other than her brothers. Though a few had the seven kids and a woman he guessed was her mother.

"You won't find one."

"What?"

"My father died before Gabe was born. Training accident or something equally as ridiculous," she divulged, biting at her bottom lip.

"I'm sorry," he began but she waved it off.

"I did not really know him all that well. He was usually only home long enough to get Mama pregnant anyway." She stood and grabbed the holster, tucking it into her waistband before flipping her shirt over it. "Anything interesting going on that you know of?"

"Not that I've heard yet. I think Dex's boys are close though. They've been busy as hell, trying to pinpoint the drug labs the Carnales are using in this part of town to supply their product. Why? You bored?"

"No, procrastinating."

"Really?" he asked, surprised by her answer. "What are you avoiding?"

"Looking for a car," Furia admitted, tucking her hands into her pockets.

"Hell, I would figure that was the first thing you did once you got things settled up." Troy sat on the edge of the sofa. Checking the safety on his gun, he ran the blue cloth over it quickly before holstering it. Then he folded up the gray cloth he had been using and tucked into a little black bag.

"Yeah, well, I'm picky about cars."

"No. Not you."

She rolled her eyes at him. Usually that particular response irritated him, but somehow when she did it, it was endearing and most of the time deserved. He leaned back against the sofa and laced his fingers behind his head. "What are you looking for?"

"Domestic. Big engine. Standard transmission. Slightly compact build so that I can make the cops work for it--but with four doors. And it needs a frame that's in good enough shape to handle some work. Everything else I can replace or rework really."

"So you want my car?"

"You interested in selling?" she chided.

"No, but I might know a guy--"

"No, I'm looking for legit. Nothing hot."

"My only connection for that sort of thing likes you more than he likes me," Troy revealed, meaning her cousin Miguel. "I was thinking of Samson's brother, Hercules. He's got that used car place out near the Barrio. If nothing else you could let him know what you're looking for and he could keep an eye out. So what would your ideal be?"

Furia leaned on a dresser across the room and looked up at the ceiling, She appeared to be calculating something, likely adding up the pros and cons of all the vehicles she was familiar with. Troy ran his hand over his forehead as he stared at her, waiting for her decision. Every little thing he learned about her pushed him toward a line he should not even be considering crossing.

"Hammerhead, Bootlegger, Vegas, maybe, if I was desperate."

Troy pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Got a pen and paper?"

She quickly provided both from a drawer in the item she was leaning against.

"Call him when you have a few hours free. Tell him I sent you and he'll know you're actually a Saint and not just someone with a penchant for purple."

Instinctively he glanced at his phone when hers rang. He merely watched quietly. She gestured for the pen and quickly scrawled two addresses. Her side of the conversation was limited to silent nods and a few affirmative responses. If he had to guess, it was Julius, Dex, or Johnny with a job. Ripping the sheet off the pad, she stuffed it in her pocket and crossed to the back of the apartment again.

The undercover cop knew the sounds when he heard them--clearing and loading a shotgun. The errant thought that he would need to show her how to clean one of those sprinted through his head, quickly followed by the curiosity about what she was preparing for.

"I got it. I'll call you when it's done," Furia said as she pumped the shotgun.

Her eyes quickly met Troy's.

"Any chance I could bum a ride to"--she dug the sheet of paper out of her pocket--"Madelyn and Tenth."

"Sure. You need more than a ride?" he asked cautiously.

"Nah. Sounds pretty straight forward. Influence a few people and set some things on fire. Not much heavy lifting involved."

Though he knew there was likely a lot more to it than that, he was not going to argue with her. If she felt it was something she could handle, he would leave it at that, even if he did not want to.

 

**-3-**

* * *

 

Dexter Jackson eyed the map as he leaned back in his chair, feet propped on the edge of his workstation. He knew the plan had to come off, which is precisely why he called Furia, even Javier said she was one of the best. The lieutenant just hoped the guy was using the head between his shoulders and not the one between his legs to reach that assessment. That seemed to be proving a more common symptom than Dex really wanted to consider, though the first time he met her after the canonization he could see why.

When he heard the smooth voice approaching his office, Dex glanced over his toward the door. She was pretty, he had to admit--black hair, sepia skin, and the eyes were striking, they were light, a haunting contrast to the darkness of the rest of her features. Even despite her penchant for baggy clothes, he could tell she had a nice shape to her--tall and lean. Yeah, he could definitely see the reason Javier and Marco were overzealous in their praise.

"Thanks for taking care of this on short notice," Dex said as he stood.

"Ni jota," she replied and crossed the room.

He gave her some necessary background on the Carnales, and could not help but be pleased that she did not refer to them as _the_ Los Carnales, though he figured she might avoid that little too common faux pas.

"From what my crew says, you handled it to perfection." He had had two of his crew watching and then they walked through the buildings after she left to make sure things were accomplished to Dex's standards. And their verdict had been: pristine.

"Órale. It was simple and straight forward. Surprisingly there was not that much resistance."

"And shotguns are great for handling resistance effectively."

Furia smirked. "I'm a little more accurate with it, as I'm sure you've heard."

"Yeah, Julius mentioned that."

"So what's the next step?"

Dex sat down and leaned back in his chair. "We wait for Troy and our guys to find the main plant."

Her eyebrows raised slightly. "We just hang out and wait?"

He nodded with a confidence that seemed to set her on edge. _Good_. Dex liked to keep his subordinates on edge.

"How long?"

"A day, at the max. These runners were there almost daily. They will need product soon. Product you very completely destroyed. So they will have to go to the main plant, there is no way the other little labs will be able to support that many extra runners."

"Why didn't we just take out all the labs?"

"Because that would have brought them to our doorstep. Instead, we hit two which were fairly close to the Row and it looks less like a major power play and more about securing our own turf. Sure, it will raise eyebrows--"

"But not alarms," she finished for him, crossing her arms over her chest.

Dex grinned. He might just have to like her just a little. "Precisely."

"So when we know where their main operation is, are we going in?"

Lacing his hands behind his head he nodded. "Yeah, eventually. But I have to know where it is before we can go after it. Get a lay of the land, so to speak. Ya feel me?"

"So you can minimize loss?" she asked as she ogled the board he had set up on the wall.

"Precisely.  Not worth destroying _all_ that product when we can turn it around."

Furia lifted the photos slightly, looking at the faces carefully. He was not sure how to read her silence. Lin and Troy trusted her, or so they said. Johnny said she did him a solid. And it was obvious Julius had his eye on her. But Dex was not so sure. Not yet.

"Sale[iii]." The woman turned and looked at him for a moment. "Call me if you need me," she said before she turned and walked out of the room.

 

**-4-**

* * *

 

The thick bass of the music in the nave pulsed against the stone and rattled the glass in the high windows. Furia glanced around the room, aware of the segregation. The canonized ladies were all sitting together in the northeast corner of the church near the entrance to Johnny's office. On the east side of the church was a group of guys, mostly from Johnny's and Julius' crews, though there were a few of Troy's boys. The few girls on that side of the room were all viejas--girlfriends, not canonized Saints, some of the guys had taken to calling them Angels.

Thus far, Furia had not spent all that much time around the religious headquarters of the gang, so she opted to lean there against the wall in the alcove and observe. The girls in the gang pretty much ignored the other side of the church. The girlfriends often quickly tired of being ignored in favor of whatever conversation overruled their presence, and would retreat to the other side of the church; surprisingly, they were not turned away. It was precisely the type of line Furia abhorred.

"Nah, she can drive the hell out of car," Mikey challenged loudly enough to call her attention to him when he stood.

"Racing don't mean shit at the arena."

"I bet you"--the kid dug into his pocket, but before he could retrieve his cash Furia's hand latched around his arm.

"What're you doing, Mikey?" she asked quietly, setting her hand on his shoulder. She did not need to look around the room to know everyone was staring.

He looked over at her and seemed to shrink a little.

"Your boy here seems to think you could drive the derby," Dean-O advised with that smug look she really wanted to slap off his face.

Furia took a slow breath and held her eyes closed for an extra second.

"I'm pretty sure he was going to lay some money down to that effect," the dark-eyed man noted, as he groomed his impressive afro.

Without putting too much thought into what she was about to do, Furia glanced over her shoulder. "Peaches, you still got a cousin working at the arena?"

"Yeah."

"You think he could kneecap some driver and get me in one of those cars?"

"Sure?" Her friend's tone was cautious.

Dean-O looked appalled. He had figured she would back out. It was not her fight after all. It was Mikey's big mouth that started all this, and Furia knew by the look on Dean's face that he expected her to let him twist for the mistake. But in that instant she decided she was not just going to drop him a peg. She was going to cold cock him with his own ego.

"Lucy, you want to run the book on this little excursion?" Furia asked, staring right at Dean. Her grin widened when he flinched. _That's right you smug little prick. I'm going to make you put your money where your mouth is._ Furia might regret this in about three hours, but if she was going to save Mikey's ass again and end up with a case of whiplash she was going to keep things in the hands of the people she trusted.

"Hell yes." The tiny woman bounded across the room. Furia leaned toward her and placed her own bet on herself. Lucy's eyes widened. "Seriously?"

The nod sealed the deal. Then the driver walked out of the church and took a seat on the steps.

"You don't have to do this," Mikey D noted as he sat down beside her. "Dean was just being a dick."

"No surprise there," Furia replied, leaning forward with her elbows resting on her knees.

"Have you done this sort of thing before?"

"Not really, though I've run down a few cars before, probably something like that would be my guess. Though those were just love taps, this is probably going to be a little more painful."

Mikey laughed. "Probably." He leaned toward her and whispered, "Sorry."

"Ni jota, guey. I was going to have to do something to bring Dean-O down a peg anyway. Might as well wreck some cars in the process."

Mikey grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet.

"You got this."

The woman flicked her hood up and nodded once. She was not quite so sure. Her time behind the wheel was spent avoiding shit like this. Body damage did not earn a booster points when they were trying to sell the vehicle or the parts. Damage to your prize was dangerous to the work she did.

Peaches bounded down the steps and slid her arm over Furia's shoulder. "Shall I drive?"

"Not a fucking chance," Furia replied snatching the woman's keys out of her hand.

 

**-5-**

* * *

 

Neither the hand-me-down fireproof suit that smelled like hot dogs, nor the cracked helmet made Furia feel any better about this stupid decision. _You barely know Mikey D, what do you care if he makes an idiot of himself and challenges someone to something he can't deliver. What the hell were you thinking? Going to fucking wind up a charred stain on a cheap vinyl seat. ¡Idiota!_

The air horn sounded and the rumble of the other engines told her they were rushing to the center. She had seen a few of these types of things on the TV in her uncle's garage. _¡Chingame!_ Her foot slammed on the gas, but she did not go quite straight into the fray. Her guess proved right when she slammed into the rear quarter panel of a sedan and fishtailed it.

The fact she could hear the other driver yelling caught her off guard. She could not tell what expletives he was directing at her, but she could make an educated guess. A quick look to the left showed a small group gathered against a guard rail, but when she clipped the turn, the guy she had spun t-boned her.

A shake of her head did not really clear the stars, but she at least they were dancing at the edge of her vision. She took off again, aiming her vehicle for the pile; it had to be the most unnatural response she had ever had behind the wheel. The hit was hard and spun her car into another, she reversed out of the space before Mr. Vengeful cracked her again.

"Damn, I hate automatics," she growled as she hit the gas again and love tapped her new friend.

Just for good measure she blew a little kiss at him before backing out of the fray again. Back in drive, she saw a hot pink car racing toward her.

"You can't be serious." She had played chicken before and almost swerved in time. He barely caught her back end which spun her far enough around that she was able to give chase, when he rammed the wall, she barreled her little sedan into his rear-end.

The laugh turned maniacal when she noticed the smoke.

She heard him yell, "Bitch!" as he scrambled out of the car which had actually caught fire.

"This is pretty fun," she opined as she drove around the edge of the arena. There was a station wagon upside down and a group of three cars just playing with each other on the other side. "Yes. I would love to join you."

She pointed the older make vehicle toward the gathering and managed to drive right between two of them as they backed away from one another and hit her pal in the third head on. That collision left her in the kill zone long enough and got mashed from both sides but luckily they did not back up their ramming with much speed. When she reversed across the dirt arena Mr. Vengeful gave chase.

"Sure thing, pal."

When she accelerated toward him she turned in hopes that he would hit the corner of her bumper. It worked but she did not know if it was a good thing or not. But noticing that she was in line with one of the bash brothers, she kept her foot nailed to the floor. The force of this hit carried them both to the edge of the ring. When his car crunched against the rail, hers collapsed the passenger side doors.

One thing she was sure of was that nothing was done here at low speed. Dropping into reverse, her foot hit the floorboard again and she backed toward the vehicles closing on her. One of them was going to rock her, she knew, maybe both of them would.

"¡Coño[iv]!" Furia yelled when the car she backed into hopped her bumper as the other hit her near the rear tire, spinning her care and doing horrible things to Mr. Vengeful's ride as well. Her little friend wound up teetering on his roof as the remaining green car aimed for the upside down vehicle in the center of the ring. Furia knew that she needed to get back at the little coupe.

Reverse was a bitch to maneuver in, but when Mr. Green he hit the other disabled vehicle he was a prime target. She had enough power to make him shake his head before he turned the wheel to give chase, which had given her enough time to put some useable distance between them. When he spun to face her, she was in reverse again. He proved worse than her at chicken. She caught enough of his front end to push him the twenty feet to the wall, where she ground the back bumper of her car into his grill.

She growled when she realized she was going to have to release him from the makeshift prison to take him out. Chewing at the inside of her cheek she sped across the field. It was in this instant that she was glad for the old dirt tracks she and Miguel had run on . Two cars were downed in the field, though two were against the rails. So she had obstacles she could use to her advantage.

After weaving him through the wrecks once, her competitor halted the next time she dashed through the center of the ring, which gave her the distance she needed. When she slid into position, she watched him lean toward the wheel. Furia loved people with easy tells.

"Come and get me," she taunted lowly. She knew he would turn into her as soon as she made her move, in fact she was counting on it.

Her acceleration was just right, the corners of their bumpers ticked and he took a big slide into the side of the burning car. Before he was able to recover she was backing toward him.

"¡Dios! Let me hit the damn radiator on that sucker."

The hit was harder than she anticipated, but the scream drew her attention. She could not help but laugh when she noticed the interior of the green car had caught fire, and the driver was scrambling out. Furia pounded her fist on the roof twice.

"Nicely done, number fifteen," she told the car as she pulled away from the burning vehicles.

 

**-6-**

* * *

 

"Lucky number fifteen!" Mikey yelled, standing on his chair holding his shot glass high in the air.

Johnny slipped through the crowd of purple and pulled rank on Marco who was leaning over the victorious driver.

"Thanks," Furia said as she sat up.

She had been hunched over the bar in a rather discouraging pose, but Marco was not the sharpest knife in the drawer, or so Johnny thought. But the kid did have nerves of steel.

"That was an interesting little diversion."

"And lucrative." The amber bottle rose to her lips.

"Lucy mentioned you threw down quite a bet." Johnny leaned on one elbow as he observed the group behind her. "Some would call foul."

"I placed my bet first and in front of everyone," she defended, turning to face him.

Johnny held up his hands. "I'm not saying shit. I put my money on you, too. And Troy's right, you are determined."

The wince did not escape his notice. "Yeah well, I have my reasons."

"We all have our reasons. I'm not judging."

The young woman nodded. "Well, I think that was a one-time thing," she said, rubbing her hand against his neck.

"Bad?"

She shrugged and shook her head. "Probably not."

"You did take a few good hits."

"But I gave as good as I got."

"That you did." Johnny inched toward her and she repacted in kind. "In a few days, I'll have everything lined up and I need a driver, but I want the driver Lin told me about, not the one I saw tonight. Quick and clean, no trading paint."

"That is my preference," she replied.

"Good. Come see me Thursday morning about ten, and I'll get you set up. Wear something professional looking, no flags."

"I can do that."

"Good," Johnny concluded, tapping her on the shoulder.

  


* * *

[i] Niña tonta - silly girl

[ii] So I tried to figure out what 9mm a Vice 9 was likely closest to. But I really could not find one that fit. It really looks like it could be somewhere between a Glock and an M1911. The NR4s look more like Berettas. So I opted to mimic the breakdown and cleaning for a Glock 19 with the Vice 9, even though Glocks are typically black and not nickel-plated.

[iii] Sale (SA-lay) - That's fine/cool. I agree/Sure.

[iv] Coño - Damn


	8. Exacerbation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Without fail, usually, Furia attended mass with her family, but this one was different. The strain of her brother Maximo leaving for college that evening has her abnormally tense. And when Dex decides tonight is the night to strike at the Carnales drug interests, she does not have her typical patience. The combination of situations and expectations, sets the young woman on edge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Usual thanks to Chyrstis, for her careful attention and assistance.

**Solitude: Before I See**

**08 Exacerbation**

**-1-**

* * *

 

Memo parked the car on the street, part of him expected to find his sister on the front steps tapping her foot impatiently at him, but he actually had to honk. He saw some movement in the top floor window, but he could not see her clearly. _Hell, she's probably impressed I even remembered today_ , he thought. Guillermo Guerrero might not be quite as proactive about these sorts of things as his older sister, but he would be damned if he was going to miss Maximo's last day in Stilwater. Part of him was really glad his brother, but he was also going to miss the brainy little punk.

When Furia hurried through the front door of her place he whistled sharply, only because he knew it would annoy her. When she punched him in the shoulder none too lightly, Memo laughed playfully, rubbing at his shoulder while he dangled the keys to his car at her.

"You went all out. Tia will be happy to see you in a dress," he noted, rounding the Cavallaro.

Three Sundays prior Furia had worn a pair of slacks and throughout the mass he remembered hearing his aunt whispering at his sister. He found out later that the every single time the woman leaned forward she had found some new reason why it was inappropriate for his sister to be wearing slacks in the house of God. It was something Furia was used to much more than Memo.

"Yeah, well, no need to add any more lectures to what I'm already expecting," Furia replied as she slid into the driver's seat.

She knew how much Guillermo hated letting anyone drive his car, but he knew how much Furia hated his driving. So, with her, he sometimes compromised. And this morning he was going to let her drive. Somehow he was certain more than lectures were in store for her that day. The little traces of purple on her person would not go unnoticed by Antonio. Even if no one else would know the significance, their uncle would for sure.

Memo rubbed his forehead as she sped toward the church in the Barrio. It was highly likely Tio Antonio would blame this on him, even though Memo had not even had the chance to try and talk her out of it. Hell, by the time that chance came around she had already proven herself too useful for anyone to let her walk away, which still annoyed him.

The irritation sprang mostly from the realization of his own naivety about things he felt he should have noticed. He would have foregone a lot of things in school if he had any idea that his sister was the reason he was able to have those opportunities. Memo truly thought it had been his uncle who was fronting the cost of football camp and his science tutors. Part of him was still pissed that Furia never told him.

At the same time, he found a new respect for her. There were times, in school, when he wondered why Furia did not come around as much as she did before she had graduated high school. He assumed it was because she was out living her life, that he and his siblings somehow were not quite as high on her list once she could get out of their Uncle Antonio's house. It still floored him to know that she had not moved out as a choice of her own--a fact he discovered shortly after his own high school graduation. On top of that, she worked two or three jobs to try to make sure he and his siblings got to do the things they wanted.

Memo watched her as they came up on the church, she was still doing it. Working her ass off, doing things he hoped she would rather not be doing, for all of them. And all the while, not telling any of them, she was the reason behind it. In part he was mad that she did not tell them all that it was their sister taking care of them. But he also knew that Furia was right. It did not matter who was footing the responsibility, as long as they got to do it.  That was what mattered most to her, and she was right. He remembered how much playing ball had meant to him at the time.

Despite the myriad of empty spaces closer to the church she parked his Cavallaro a little farther away and in such a way as to be able to take quick advantage of any of the exits of the parking lot. When she leaned forward, he knew what she was doing because he had done it before she got into the car.

"What?" she asked when she noticed him watching her.

"Figured you would leave that thing at home."

"Like you?"

Memo laughed. "Well, I'm supposed to go back out tonight and relieve some of the guys sitting on Dex's runners."

"How's that going?" Her voice was low as the pair exited the vehicle and walked toward the church.

His keys went into the little purse she was carrying, something she only carried on occasions such as this, and her dress did not seem to have pockets. "Not really sure. The guy I've been on hasn't really moved."

"And Dex and … them know you'll be here today, right?"

"I've got someone to cover for me. Besides I talked to Troy already. He knows I'll be locked down until Max leaves, and he's cool with it."

His sister bristled as they walked into the church, but he figured that was more about the place than the conversation. She seemed to freeze just inside the door. Ever since their grandmother died, Furia struggled with this part of their familial obligations. In a way most of the Guerrero kids had rough relationships with God, Furia most of all. None of them were particularly zealous in the religious aspect of their lives. The Guerrero kids were lucky in that they had aunts and uncles that temporarily took up the obligation of keeping them housed and in school. But it was a lot different in those houses than it had ever been with their grandparents or when their mother was alive.

 

**-2-**

* * *

 

Antonio had spent the morning ignoring the dainty purple earrings; his niece stopped wearing colors that had affiliations in Stilwater years earlier. Most of her wardrobe had become black and white, with some shades of gray. Furia had told him that made her feel safer. So, he just let the colorful additions slide for the time being.

Gabriel and Maximo bookended her for the entire service, one entitled to the spot given the upcoming separation, the other merely desperate for it. Gabriel, the youngest, had just been learning to walk when he essentially lost his mother. Angela was sick before he was born, but she told no one. After he was weaned, she finally let Antonio's mother, Maria, she was sick.

By then it was too late. The doctors had given Angela a year at that point. She managed to hang on about eighteen months. Furia was ten and Gabe was two, when Angela passed. From the start Furia, was always there for him; for the next six years she helped Maria take care of them all. For the youngest two, Furia was the closest thing they had to a mother, especially for Gabriel. And he adored her, whereas Socorro seemed to resent her older sister's attentions.

The admiration of her brothers, especially Gabriel's, was one of the things about her choices that made Antonio all the more irate. The family was all gathered in the living room, but when Furia turned to go to the kitchen, he followed her. When he caught up with her, his hand wrapped tight around her elbow. Furia immediately tensed, casting a sharp look at her uncle. Antonio returned it as he steered her out onto the back porch.

"After the conversation we had about Guillermo, you go and do the same damn thing," he growled, releasing her harshly after he quietly closed the door behind them.

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him, just the way she would when he would refuse to let her work on the cars in his shop. _Still so stubborn_.

"Do you have any idea what you are doing?" Antonio asked.

"What I must." Her eyes were as defiant as her tone.

Furia had always been the most realistic of his brother's children, always so grounded in the world. It was one of the things he loved about her, but he always hated the fact too. Antonio had always worried that her life had no dreams; no lofty ideals that would make her feel light. Everything was always so clear for her, so concrete. Hers was a life of goals, it seemed to her uncle, not dreams.

"How can you say that?"

"Do you have any idea what was going on at all?" Furia accused sharply, cutting to the meat of the argument that could have gone on for hours.

He chose not to answer.

"Accounting for the Nguyens. Bartending wherever I could get a spot. Then whatever horrible temp work I could find."

"What happened with the position at Mr. Jacobson's office?" he asked. Antonio had gotten a friend of his on the docks to hire her as a secretary at their administrative center. It was supposed to be a decent job with good benefits and potential.

She tilted her head at her uncle and eyed him coolly. "Yeah. I got groped less bartending in a strip club than I did in that office."

He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. What struck him hardest was that when he talked to his friend about this, Antonio told the man he thought of Furia like his own daughter.

"Ay, Dios. Tio, lo siento."

"No. This is my fault. I--"

"Was trying to help," Furia said much more gently than anything else they had said to one another.

She slipped her arm around his and led him down the steps and the two sat in the swing he had built for his wife when she fell ill. The two of them relaxed there in silence. Antonio could not even fathom his own reaction to what she had told him. He had wanted to help her find a job where she would be safe. Something with normal hours where she would not have to put up with people treating her the way he had seen her treated in that bar. He stood quickly and paced around the little sitting area in the garden; his hand clamped over his mouth while his mind raced.

"The bar wasn't that bad. I usually got worse going to and from work," she revealed, eyes on her fingertips as she picked at the pale polish on her nails. "But I just got a little tired of it all. Then everything else. Not being able to walk home in our old neighborhood without risking getting shot at."

"Yes, but now you're just one of the ones doing the shooting," Antonio accused.

She looked away. They both knew it was true.

"The Saints aren't like the rest of them. They are trying to make it right. Make it stop."

Antonio set his fingers under her chin and turned her face toward him. He only had to wait a moment for her eyes to meet his. She looked so much like her mother, but she had his brother's eyes--spooky and ancient. "You are not that naïve, mija. Noble intentions aside."

"Fine. Yes, I'm starting to realize that what Julius said he had in mind, might not be quite what's being put into action. But what I do know is that I can cover Socorro's art lessons, and Gabe's engineering classes. And at the rate I'm going I'll be able to cover Max's tuition and he won't have to take out a hundred grand in student loans."

"You are not their mother," Antonio told her, cupping her cheeks in his hands, like he did when she was younger and he was trying to remind her she was just a little girl. While she was no longer a girl, she was still trying to be too much, trying to be everything for everyone.

"I'm all that's left," she said quietly.

The glistening in her eyes, broke his heart. She was always so strong. Always the one everyone turned to, the one they ran to. Antonio pulled her into his arms and held her against his chest. After a moment, the little quake in her shoulders made him hold her that much tighter, as he pressed his lips to the top of her head. She was his godchild; Furia always held a special place in his heart and he really did treat her like she was his own daughter.

Wriggling free of his grip, she turned her back to him and to the house as she composed herself. It took a little longer than usual. But this was her way. _Never show weakness. Never let anyone see her cry_. _Always the strong one. Always the one people could count on._

"And you're sure this is the best way?"

"Not the best," she said, glancing over her shoulder at him. "But it feels like what's left. And it is better than before, Tio."

"I don't like this Furia. You and Memo caught up in all this craziness. Your mother--"

"Don't!" Furia growled; her exasperation clear in voice and the sharp movements of her upheld hands. "Just don't! I know what she wanted. I remember her telling me all about her dreams and what my life was going to be like. It was fine for her to dream, for her to believe those sweet ideas that lulled her to sleep. But bills needed to be paid, and dancing was not going to get that done."

"Mija." When he touched her shoulder, she shrugged him off. So he turned her to face him. Antonio tucked her hair behind one of her ears. "Princesita."

He smiled when he saw the corner of her mouth twitch. It was what her father and grandfather had called her, what he always called her.

"You were always the good one. I never had to worry about you getting into something that you shouldn't be."

She sighed and looked up at her uncle. "And I was always the one that took care of the rest of them. That's what I'm doing. And I'm still the good one Tio, just with more flexible standards."

Furia kissed him on the cheek and walked back to the house.

Before he even broached the conversation he had known it was likely to turn out this way. Stubborn and strong, she had, somehow, surpassed all his sisters and stepped into his mother's roles. In too many ways she kept them all glued together, holding onto all of her family with both hands, trying to keep them close. Antonio knew she did it in part to keep her brothers and sister close despite the different homes they lived in, but it kept even Antonio and the others closer as well. Stepping into the place of matriarch way too early, after her mother then her grandparents passed, Furia took to the role and did everything she could and more for her family. All Antonio could do was watch, yet again, as she struggled to maintain some lofty and unnecessary ideal of herself. Though in the past he had worried for the type of life she had with the pace she kept up, now he found himself worrying for her life in the most physical sense.

 

**-3-**

* * *

 

Furia slammed the door after she slid into driver's seat of Memo's car. When Maximo graduated at the top of his class she was overjoyed. When he got the acceptance letter to Eastern Poly, she had taken him out to a real celebration dinner; doted on him the entire night. Part of her was thrilled, Maximo was far from Stilwater, far from the craziness overtaking the city and encroaching on her life. In her mind, he was safe. But that was not a lot of comfort. Losing things was never easy for her, and with all the hope and opportunity surrounding her brother's departure, deep down that was precisely how it felt, like she was losing him--losing yet another piece of herself.

The ringing of the phone annoyed her. She swiped at her cheeks quickly and looked at it. She cleared her throat quickly and took a deep breath before she answered it, knowing she just how lucky she was that she had not gotten this call earlier that day or in the preceding three.

"Hey Dex."

"How's it going, girl?"

"You tell me. You need something?" She was not in the mood to be sweet and social that night, which her tone suggested.

"Yep, got a line. Need a driver with good hands."

"For what?"

"Meet me at Freckle Bitch's. We can discuss it over a shake. My treat."

"I'll be there in an hour. I need to change."

"No dice. Don't have that kind of time," Dex disagreed.

"Seriously?"

"Twenty minutes," he said and hung up.

"Motherfucker." Even if she ignored the speed limit entirely she would be hard pressed to make that timeline from the airport. She started the car and gunned the engine once it was in gear.

The last few days had been easy comparatively, no one ringing her phone off the hook meant she had been able to make contact with an old friend of Miguel's, which brought her another chance to earn and drive. Hijacking was not all that different from boosting, except that she did not have to deal with locks, alarms, or need to hotwire anything. There had also been a reprieve from what she felt was her own stupidity since Julius' second had been tied up with his crew, who were staking out the Carnales' runners.

The parking lot of Freckle Bitch's was relatively dead. Dexter Jackson was leaning on the hood of a beat-up light-colored La Fuerza parked near the back of the lot when she pulled up three minutes past the deadline he set out for her. The smile was clearly mocking as he clapped slowly at her arrival. Not only was Jackson obviously in a mood, Troy was there too. It was not a detraction; just another challenge to overcome, or so she tried to convince herself.

"Very nice," Dex said, taking note of the surprising hemline and the neckline of the dress. "You clean up pretty good."

"Thank you for your input Stefan," she chided with a half-hearted little curtsey. "Now what's so important that you can't let a girl put real clothes on."

After Dex's little inspection, Furia really did not want to know if Troy was taking similar liberties; though she assumed he was, she just opted to remain ignorant of it. Instead she eyed the map that Dex had laid out on the hood. There were a few new marks added to the three red Xs she had been responsible for days earlier: a couple of pencil lines, green circles, and one large highlighted area. _Jesus, Dex is a little on the obsessive side_ , she thought as she leaned over the bright yellow block, studying the area around it.

"You going to enlighten her, or shall I?" Dex said condescendingly to the man on his right.

Leaning her hip against the car and crossing her arms, Furia turned her attention to Troy, who took a moment to glare at Dex. When he started to detail what his guys learned over the last few days, he turned his gaze on Furia. It was one of the things she liked about Troy, when he spoke to you, he looked at you. The minute sign of respect and consideration went a long way with her, especially considering how rare it tended to be. Dex did not do it, though Julius did from time to time. But with Johnny and Troy you knew they were talking to you.

"And we managed to get a lead on where the Los Carnales cut all their shit," Troy concluded his informative report by tapping two fingers on the highlighted section of the map.

"The Carnales," Dex corrected.

Furia did not say a word. He was right, but she kept her mouth shut. In her experience correcting usage and pronunciation rarely worked, unless someone really wanted to learn.

"What?" Troy asked sharply.

"Rio Grande River. Jesus."

Furia bit her lip trying not to smile at the look on Troy's face. She could not decide if he was confused or irritated, or maybe too much of both.

"What the fuck?"

Dex looked at Troy with an exasperated shake of his head. "It's not the Los Carnales. It's just the Carnales. Los means the. Tell him," the shorter of the two men ordered with a sweeping gesture toward Bradshaw.

Suddenly the two of them were looking at her. "He's right," she replied with the barest lift of one shoulder. "Are you done with your Spanish grammar lesson? Because I've been in these heels all day, and I'm going to get testy pretty soon, if you don't tell me why the fuck I'm standing in a Freckle Bitch's parking lot in my literal Sunday's Best."

Troy tried to hide the smile behind his hand as he lit a cigarette, but he seemed to take great pleasure in her response to Dex. She could tell there was some tension between the two men, but in all honesty she noticed there seemed to be tension between Dex and just about everyone. Even his own crew was a little standoffish with him. Perhaps he just rubbed people the wrong way, or maybe he did it intentionally. Furia could not be entirely sure.

Jackson rolled his eyes at her with an aggravated sigh. "Fuck it. Like I was saying. We're not going to raid the factory quite yet."

"Why not?" she and Troy asked in unison, both staring at him.

"'Cause I'm not a gun-toting psychopath named Johnny Gat." The very detailed planner shook his head at the pair of them.

Troy glanced over at her, as if waiting to see if she had something to say. When she shook her head slightly with an annoyed roll of her eyes, Bradshaw straightened and inquired about the plan that had them conspiring behind a fast food joint late on a Sunday night. Apparently she was not the only one standing on the brink of thoroughly put out, Furia realized.

Dex sounded as if he were moving toward incensed, but his tone also suggested his fatigue. Despite this he was focused and specific. "One of my boys called and said they saw a truck with a heavy LC escort leaving the factory district. It's probably loaded with drugs but that is just a bonus. Our target is the truck itself. I need it brought back to the Row in one piece. It's no good to us blown to shit."

Furia considered what he said. A myriad of questions ran through her mind. _How old was the truck? Foreign? Domestic? Oh god, please let it not be European. Shit, I hate European trucks!_ She missed most of the rest of the conversation between the two of them. At least until Dex lost his patience.

"Shit Troy! What's with all the questions? Why can't you be more like my girl here? Damn!" he yelled, gesturing at Furia, pleadingly, with both hands.

"Look. Dex--" Troy said in an effort to smooth the other man's ruffled feathers.

"Could you go get that truck?" Dex asked Furia, ignoring Troy for the moment and turning his back on him.

"Sure thing," she replied, glancing carefully from one to the other and back again.

"See. Is that so hard?" he asked the other man, in a tone that showed he was significantly riled.

"I'm going to need to get my tools. Depending on the make and year, I might need more than a screwdriver and smile." Furia crossed her arms over her chest and eyed him.

"Troy's got it covered," Dex noted without more than a glance at her this time. He gathered his map and the small leather satchel from the front passenger seat of the La Fuerza.

Eying Troy, she huffed a little. _What the hell does that even mean? What does he have covered? Surely he did not mean. No!_ She shook her head, hoping she could talk Troy into letting her grab her tools. And since her tools were in her apartment, she might be able to throw on a pair of jeans or something more appropriate for crawling around in the foot well of a truck cab than a relatively delicate cotton blend. Dex seemed hell-bent on ruining her dress as well as her night and to be honest it was pissing her off.

"Fine," she responded shortly. With a little kick of her foot, Furia straightened and started walking toward her brother's car.

The sharp whistle drew her eyes back toward Troy, who was still standing near the dusty blue two-door they had all been gathered around. "We don't really want to use a ride that could be traced back to any of our guys," he said, standing in the open driver's side door.

_Great. I'm in heels and one of my few decent dresses. I have no tools. And now I get the bitch seat. Isn't this just priceless?_

 

**-4-**

* * *

 

From the moment she stepped out of Memo's car, Troy could sense that Furia was irked. From what he knew from Memo's call that morning, he could completely understand why. Glaring at him as she stalked back toward the La Fuerza, Furia looked downright livid. Bradshaw figured it might be safest not to mention it. He ducked into the driver's seat and started the car just as she climbed in.

"Seat belt," he said, with a little grin, hoping to lighten her mood.

"Fuck you."

"Okay, then."

Her sharp clipped response seemed to cement her mood. Troy steered the little coupe out of the parking lot. His playful order had been an attempt to get a response out of her, but that was not the one he expected. For the first few miles she did not even look at him. They were nearly at the location Dex's guys at detailed when the silence finally broke.

"I'm sorry, Troy," she said after a few minutes. "I just--"

"I know. And for what it's worth, I tried to get him to put it off until tomorrow."

He glanced over she was shaking her head at the skyline. "It's fine. It's just … it is what it is."

"That's the truth."

"You know anything about this truck?"

Troy hazarded a glance at her. His jaw tightened as his eyes locked on the hand kneading at her calf. He swallowed hard and focused on the road, gripping the wheel tighter.

"Nothing more than you. Some LC dropped it at the docks and it has eyes on it."

"I don't know how long it is going to take me to get it started. Just wish I didn't have to crawl all over a truck in this get up," she replied.

"You don't have to. I'll take care of it."

"You?" Furia sounded unconvinced.

Troy could not help but smile at the return of some lightness to her voice. "I have some tricks up my sleeve," he noted. Though she was right to wonder, he had not tried to hotwire a car since he was in the academy. It was one of those emergency procedures they were taught _Couldn't be all that hard, if he could remember which wires he was supposed to cut and connect_ , he told himself.

"If you say so."

When he eyed her again she was leaned back against the seat, face turned to the industrial district sweeping by. The small purple flower earrings were the only sign of her affiliation, but considering where she had spent the day it seemed more than enough. The gray of the dress did not flatter her, but she still looked amazing. _Of course she always looks incredible_ , he thought. Looking away quickly, he shook the thought from his head.

"Your brother was leaving today right?"

"Yeah. Max. "

He caught the shift of her body out of the corner of his eye, she turned toward him slightly, her elbow perched on the armrest between them. That enticing hint of vanilla made him tighten his grip on the wheel again.

"Academic scholarship to Eastern Poly."

"Damn!"

She was smiling proudly, her eyes focused on nothing. "I'm glad he's not here, but not at the same time, if that makes any sense." she admitted as Troy pulled onto the dock slowly.

"Yeah, it does."

Bradshaw almost wished there were a few miles left; getting her to talk to him about anything not related to the Saints was a guilty pleasure he too thoroughly enjoyed. He parked the car a several yards from the truck then popped the hood. Flicking the cigarette out the window, his eyes met hers. Furia never shied away from looking someone in the eye--Troy could not decide if it was out of defiance or merely respect, but he assumed it was most likely to be some measure of the two from what he had seen of her. Sometimes her gaze was so intense it could stagger him, and this was one of those times.

He did not want to make the suggestion he was about to voice. It was one of the reasons Dex had called her. Pretty girl, leaning over an engine, might peak some interest, but would not necessarily send up red flags. The fact that she could handle herself made her an even better candidate. Furia was cool under pressure, Troy had seen it firsthand a number of times, and she could fit whatever bill someone wanted to paint on her, with ease. She could read people and fit their expectations on a dime. To Dex's luck, the dress was likely going to make her just that much more convincing.

Troy popped the hood latch and got out. When she followed he could tell she knew where he was going. "Feel up to playing the damsel in distress?"

"I should shoot Dexter Jackson, … and you."

Troy laughed. "Probably."

She mumbled something he did not understand, and he was fairly certain by the fire in her eyes that he did not want to know. When he lifted the hood, she leaned against the grill and looked up at him.

"Did he seriously call me because I'd look innocuous and completely useless."

"No," Troy replied, one hand still on the edge of the hood as he loomed over her. He shook his head slightly and opted to be straight with her. "I don't know. You never can tell with Dex. But I'm glad he agreed with me."

"Agreed with you?" she asked.

He swore Furia seemed to be taken aback, with her head tilted slightly upward, the look she gave him was a little less life-threatening than it had been moments earlier. Though in all honesty a part of him was surprised as well, both that he had suggested her and that she had not retaliated at the admission.

"Yeah. I figured this would be right up your alley."

"Why's that?"Peppered with a trace of irritation, her tone was innocuously curious.

"I suggested you because I knew that if something happened you would have my back."

"Even if I can't shoot straight?"

Her lips curved in that too familiar way and Troy tightened his grip on the edge of the hood. _Damn that smile_. "Like you said. Enough bullets and you're bound to hit something."

She shook her head and punched him in the shoulder. Her laughter was light and inspired Troy to respond similarly. Bradshaw watched her after she looked away. Furia was a guilty pleasure--dangerous and enticing. He knew he was being stupid. She could ruin his career. Even worse she could get him killed, or the other way around.

"Be right back," he said, chastising himself as he jogged to the truck parked up the dock.

 

**-5-**

* * *

 

Pulling her long hair off her shoulders, Furia watched her partner in crime move quickly toward the shadows of the building. _Well, at least in one respect, he thought like a car thief._ Her eyes scanned the deserted road, then the rooftops. Dex had said there were eyes on this truck, but not given them any more information than that. Her mind ebbed and flowed from the present situation to the revelations Bradshaw had offered her, which she really was not certain how to reconcile. Deep down there was an ever growing desire to throttle Dexter Jackson; a desire she knew she would likely never act on, though she might threaten to the next time he tried to play her off as a hood ornament.

Then there was Troy. Furia could not be sure how to judge the statement he made about trusting her or her ability; to her, her inability seemed to me more noticeable than any skill, outside of driving and boosting cars. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the light flash on in the cab. She got just a glimpse of him, before he bashed the shell of the fixture with the screwdriver--the strong jaw, sharp eyes, and that almost ever-present scowl which seemed to draw his brow downward.

_Aja, idiota. ¡Ave María Purísima! Get a grip._

Again her gaze was drawn to the road. This time her attention focused on the headlights approaching. She turned so that she was leaning over the open engine compartment, while her eyes followed the Hollywood convertible as it slowed to make an observation of the scene she was setting. With a quick glance at the truck she was glad that Troy had the sense to knock out the cab light, but even so he was not in view, though the door of the vehicle was not completely shut. As the breezer drove under a street light, she counted heads and took note of the car--crimson metallic paint, gold scroll work, and three men in red shirts and bandannas.

_There go the eyes_ , she told herself. As the taillights faded, she looked back at the truck nervously. _This is taking way to long._

"Heads up. We've been spotted. But I don't think they're suspicious yet." _I hope_.

"Almost got it." His reply was muffled.

Furia looked at the engine. There were some things she knew precisely what to do with. Distributor cap, battery, carburetor, she mentally ticked off a little checklist in her head as she scanned the barely lit metallic landscape before, listening hard for any engine sounds. Though she was praying to hear the gruff rumble of a diesel as every second ticked by, it did not come.

About three minutes after the first pass, the thick purr of a well-tuned V8 drew her attention, however. Thankfully it was not the same car. This one was a tiny Vegas.

_That one could be an issue_ , she noted as she watched the little two-seater cruise by at a painfully slow speed. She could almost feel the driver staring at her, so she kicked her leg up and reached toward the dipstick as if she was going to do something. She let out a long slow breath and stepped away from the car, trying to look as far up the road as possible. The street curved as it ran past the dock, cutting the amount of warning she could get. It was also set above the dock, which cut her line of sight and gave anyone on the road the advantage.

She looked back at the truck and heard a muffled curse.

_That's it. This is taking too damn long._

When she pulled the door open, Troy's hand went to his gun, but luckily for him it was just her and not someone there to shoot him. She smiled slightly, having got the drop on him.

"What's going on?" he whispered.

"Get out of the truck, Troy," she said flatly. When he climbed down, she set her hand on his back to steady him, then immediately grabbed the handle beside the door for support. His hand on the small of her back, gave her pause. With a quick glance she noticed him trying to peek around the edge of the door, which gave her a little relief.

"I saw two cars. Little supped up Vegas, with a V8, and Hollywood," she noted as she looked at the wires Troy had pulled out. Thankfully he had not cut anything yet or this might have been a bust. "Where's your screwdriver?"

 

**-6-**

* * *

 

With an upward glance his eyes travelled the length of her legs again, forgetting the question for a moment until he saw the open hand stretched toward him impatiently groping at nothing. Thankfully her attention was on the steering column and he was the only one of them aware of his leering. He set the requested tool in her hand. She never even glanced at him. In the darkness he could not be sure precisely what she was doing.

"Come on, baby. Make it easy for me," she whispered toward the dashboard.

_Less than a minute,_ he thought when the engine rumbled to life.

"How the hell did you do that?" he asked as she swung her legs toward him.

Out of politeness, he set his hands on her waist as she climbed out of the cab. But when she hopped off the last step, Furia was close enough to make the rest of the world go mute and dark as that intense gaze pulled at him. The intoxicating mix of that look and the spiced vanilla swirling around her stalled his brain. The feel of her so close was a temptation he had sampled previously, but there was something very different about it in that moment.

The distance between them prompted by position and reality seemed to disappear as her hand lingered in his chest. Something in him refused to step away, but before he could close the scant space remaining between them, the screeching of tires and the low rumble of a big engine pulled him out of the spell.

"Damnit!" she sighed, leaning her head back against the door.

"Go! I'll cover you. Then we can get the hell out of here."

"We have three minutes, until the Vegas comes back around."

Troy had to admit he was impressed--she had taken careful not of the patrols and the timing. He climbed up into the cab to try for a clear shot. He took out the two men near Furia's getaway. The resounding low ring of metal on metal told him there were more. Before he could get a clear shot, Troy saw Furia bounce the third man's forehead off the front panel of the truck.

"Go!" she scolded as he looked down at her. "Dios."

As Bradshaw slipped into the cab he watched her run across the dock. She waved him past as she slammed the hood closed on the car one of Dex's guys had picked up. When he turned onto the street, checking his mirror, he noticed the large red convertible speeding toward him, and his heart sank for a moment. The ringing cut through his brain, and a lighter feeling returned with recognition of the number.

"You just had to steal their car, didn't you?"

"Figured there was a chance it would draw less attention and fewer questions if an LC truck was followed by a big red barge."

Troy nodded. _She was right_. "Nice trick."

"Yeah well. That and if that Vegas shows up, I'm more likely to be able to block them with this thing than that coupe."

"It's a shame you're not wearing red," he replied.

"Who says I'm not?"

He couldn't help but laugh.

"Someone left a sweet jacket in the front seat, and I stole the bandanna off the guy that jumped me. So I might could pass, if no one looks to close. And if their boys on the dock go unnoticed long enough."

"It is possible. The two I shot are behind the car, so if you're looking from the street."

"Well, mine was mostly in the shadows. They might have to look hard to find him."

"Might be our only worry is whether someone one knows that this truck isn't supposed to be moving yet," Troy stated as he turned onto the freeway. He had honestly expected some resistance, but perhaps she was right; he already knew she was good.

Half an hour later, when they pulled into Samson's garage without an inkling of suspicion, Troy was thoroughly relieved. Rounding the truck, he stopped as Furia stepped out of the convertible.

"You look good in red."

"Yeah," she replied with a little laugh. "But purple is more my style."

"Have to agree there."

Furia shrugged off the jacket and tossed it in the backseat as Troy approached. He could not help but wonder about that moment, what might have happened if no one had turned down that dock. When she leaned against the door, and looked up at him, there was a part of him that wondered if the same question might not be playing in her head as well.

She did look good in red, really good, but he hated seeing the color on her, thus he took the liberty of untying the bandana holding her hair back in a rushed ponytail. The blush that kissed her cheeks, made him bolder.

"Dex said you'd have the keys," Samson called from the other side of the truck.

It was enough to let her slip away again.

"The keys weren't in it. He was wrong about that," Troy told the ceiling as he shook his head slightly when she turned away from him.

"The damage was minimal though. And it should be able to be started again, though you might have to go to the ignition wires next time around," Furia explained as she too rounded the truck.

Troy leaned against the door of the Hollywood. His mind racing along two tracks--all the reasons he should avoid this woman, and all the things that seemed to draw him toward her.

_This can't happen. Just walk away. It will be easier that way. Just full stop, and it will all be fine_. Anytime he felt himself hurtling toward her, he tried to grab onto anything to halt his fall; none of it had been working. Even the last few days, tied up with the Los Carnales runners, he had been distracted by her and she had not even been around. There was no guarantee that this plan could or would work, but Bradshaw knew he had to do something before he fucked up his career and burned all the time he had already put into this assignment.


	9. GNO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A call from Ginger convinces Furia to make a long day just a little bit longer. The promise of distraction and drinks suggests a reprieve from her own preoccupation, so she agrees to the vague invitation, which leaves the four friends in a situation they did not plan on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the patience, know the update was a little slow, but the muses were scatterbrained this go around. Thanks to Chy for the beta.

**Solitude: Before I See**

**09: GNO**

**-1-**

The heels came off after Furia closed the door behind her. Walking twelve blocks in the factory district in those shoes had not been in her plans for the day and her feet were killing her, but that was the only choice available to her. Or so she thought at the time. Given the choice between calling a cab and accepting a ride from Troy, she opted for the walk to the cannery where she had the cab meet her.

She was very nearly certain that if the option presented itself again, or maybe even if it did not, that she would do something stupid. The last thing Furia wanted in that moment was to be pegged as anyone's girl. It was hard enough getting respect with the guys, and a weak part of her worried that hooking up with anyone, least of all Julius' second, would make any chance of being seen as capable neigh impossible. She strode into the bathroom and stripped while the water ran in the tub. After all the stunts she had pulled to make herself stand out from the crowd she did not want to see it all disappear because of a tantalizing smile and a set of gorgeous hazel eyes.

The hot water eased the ache in her legs and the tension in her shoulders, but it did nothing to chase off the distraction. She ducked her head underwater for a moment, and when she came back up her phone was ringing.

Rolling her eyes at Peaches' number, she answered it despite her better judgment. "Why are you calling me?"

"Because you need a drink, bitch."

Furia laughed, choosing to ignore the obvious question that flew to mind.  "How've you been, Ginger?"

"Not as good as you."

"Tell her we have something special planned," Peaches directed from afar.

"And to wear something eye catching," Lucy added.

"Tell Lucy, everything I wear is worth a second look," Furia replied. _What are you thinking?_

"We'll be there in twenty," Ginger advised, hanging up before her friend could even think of an argument against it.

Furia laid the phone back on the small table beside the tub. She washed her hair and scrubbed up quickly. _Maybe this would work. Night out with the girls, could chase away or at least drown some errant thoughts_ , she considered as she towel-dried her hair, which she opted to leave down for a change. Deciding to take up Lucy's suggestion, she donned a pair of miniscule jean shorts and a lacy white halter that bared her midriff. The purple scarf threaded through the belt loops easily and she tied it in a loose knot on her hip. For half a second she considered heels, then decided against it and went for a pair of well worn in western boots. Eyeliner, mascara, and a tinted lip gloss finished it all off in the nick of time.

She barely had a moment to again ask herself what the hell she was doing before the doorbell rang. Not that Furia needed the buzzer to know the ladies had arrived.

"Girl, you're pretty enough, get the hell down here," Peaches demanded when Furia hit the intercom.

"Momentito," she replied. _This is such a bad idea_.

Furia tried not to think about the truck or Dex, and definitely not Troy, when she pulled the door closed. "No, not tonight. Just nothing about that. Just nothing at all," she said, locking her door.

_You can do this. Just be fun for a night._ It was with that thought that Furia realized just how long it had been since she had really done anything frivolous. Hell, even the last time she went out drinking it was with designs, and she had acted precisely the way she thought was expected of her given the situation. That was what she was good at--knowing what people wanted from her and delivering on it.  As she stepped out onto the sidewalk, there was a raucous roar of welcome and six arms pulled at her and wrapped around her in turn.

"We are going to show you a good time, mama," Lucy disclosed as she threaded her arm around Furia's. "None of this prim and proper bullshit. Hell, if you're lucky, you might get lucky."

All of them laughed, at variant volumes, Furia the lowest. That idea conjured up one candidate, and she immediately shook the memory of earlier from her mind.

 

**-2-**

Ginger drove, mainly because she knew the best guy in the city. Furia had introduced her to Peaches, Lucy, and a few other canonized females from the Saints over the last few months, and they were all, strangely, nice enough, Ginger thought. She still did not understand why her friend had taken this route. With a glance in the rearview mirror, though, the tall dark-eyed woman could not help but laugh at the warm smile the tequila was starting to inspire.

"Where the hell are we going?" Furia finally asked over the din of giggles and the hum of the music that was turned down lowish, but not off.

"Oh girl, we should have done this forever ago," Lucy said, stealing the bottle and taking a long pull.

Peaches leaned over the back of the seat holding out her hand. "Honestly, I'm surprised Johnny, Troy, or Julius haven't said anything about it by now."

"What?" Furia asked again.

Lucy turned in the seat and tugged the back of her waistband down. Ginger spat out a mouthful of tequila all over the dashboard and the windshield when she saw her friend blanch. Furia had a phobia of needles. Always had. At least that was what she told Ginger the first time she suggested the Latina join her on a trip to her favorite artist.

"You can't be serious?" Furia intoned, deadpan.

"Oh, hell yeah," Peaches assured. She leaned forward and unbuttoned two buttons of her blouse before exposing the smaller fleur de lis in the front of her shoulder. "Johnny tried to talk me into getting it on my neck."

"She almost did it, too," Lucy announced.

"Thankfully, Troy and Dex came in, told us we didn't have to be quite that blatant. You should have seen Mikey's face."

"He was halfway through his." Lucy laughed and placed her widely opened fingers on the side of her neck. "Got that larger than life purple monstrosity, right here."

"Damn. I just thought he was overzealous," Furia said quietly.

Ginger could see the anxiety winding up in her friend. "You'll be fine," she offered, handing the bottle back to Furia. "Just get it somewhere you can't see the gun."

"Just don't go with a tramp stamp," Peaches chided.

Lucy stuck her tongue out at the strawberry blonde.

When they arrived at Ginger's favorite shop, she looped arms with Furia. "If you want, I'll get something done too. You know me. Anything for the sake of art."

"I don't think that will help. Pretty sure even seeing someone else get one is going to make me pass out."

"Bullshit. You'll be fine."

Peaches and Lucy skipped past them excitedly.

"You know you don't have to do this," Ginger stated calmly, watching her friend carefully.

Furia just stared at the neon sign flashing _OPEN_ in the shop's front window. "I know. But it's expected."

"I don't mean the tattoo."

Her friend stared at her with defiance in her eyes--that same willfulness that always came out in Furia when she would defend one of the dancers or the younger girls at the Candy Store when they worked together. "Believe me. I know precisely what I'm doing."

"Do you? Do you, really?"

"Look. Things are better than they were."

"Not really. Nothing's changed. There is just another color in the mix. Instead of three now it's four," Ginger explained. "People are still getting shot. They still can't walk home at night. Nothing has changed."

"Well it will. It has to," Furia muttered the last sentiment.

"I get it, Sweetie. I really do."

Furia shook her head slightly. "No. I don't know that you do. When Claudius fired me, that was the last straw. I didn't have a backup. I was out of backups. Hell, I almost fucking died on the way home that night. And this fell into my lap. The Saints literally saved my life," Furia noted, staring at the purple scarf she was toying with. With a shrug and a shake of her head, she dropped the soft fabric and looked at Ginger with a weary smile. "I love you for trying. But in some ways it all feels like borrowed time anyway."

"So you think you should have died that night and now you're just waiting for the other shoe to drop?" The accusation dripped from Ginger's voice. That was about the stupidest thing she could ever remember hearing.

"I'm not being reckless. I'm careful. And what I don't know, I'm learning. One of the guys is even teaching me how to shoot. Watching my back."

Ginger shook her head. She was not buying it. This was not the way she had known Furia to behave in the years she had known her. The two of them had worked a ton of crap jobs together, and while she knew that the market even for crap jobs was thin, this change really did not seem to suit her friend.

The Latina propped her hands on her hips. "Look. I've always done whatever I had to do. And now this is the thing I have to do. It is doing the trick. I can cover my own bills, and everyone else's. So it is what it is."

Furia turned and walked toward the modest building, passing three of the dozen or so motorocycles parked out front before Ginger caught up to her. She grabbed her friend's arm and pulled her into a hug. "You promise me, if you need anything--I'm you're first call."

There was a minute sense of relief that fell over Ginger when her friend embraced her tightly and agreed.

"Hey. You two stop making out and get your asses in here," Peaches called from the door.

"C'mon. I'll hold your hand," Ginger mocked with an air of truth.

That was also precisely what she did. While Furia lay on her stomach, Big Daddy Phil inked a precisely scrolling and ornately detailed purple fleur de lis on the back of Furia's right shoulder. Ginger sat there in front of her talking about everything but what was happening. She told her about Alla's attempt to bribe Claudius into letting her dance. Of course, all she managed to get out of that deal was something she needed a course of antibiotics for. She told Furia that Danny asked about her regularly, while suggesting, yet again, that he was sweet on her. The topics went from catching up to the utterly ridiculous, but the distraction worked, or at least it seemed to.

When Phil was done they were all in awe of the magnificent work he had done. Furia most of all it seemed. She stared at it for quite a long while before she let him cover it. She also insisted on getting his card and programming it into her phone before they left. Ginger wondered if maybe the experience had been less traumatic than the other woman expected; judging from the reaction, Ginger was almost certain that the next time she suggested Furia join her for a trip out here to the edge of Stilwater, her friend might just jump at the chance.

 

**-3-**

The ringing was incessant and cut through the silence, eliciting a groan. At first he tried to muffle the sound with a pillow, but when it continued Troy grabbed it and groaned incoherently as he answered it.

"Hey, Jefe! How ya doin'?"

"Who the hell is this?" Troy leaned up and looked at the number. _Restricted._

_"_ Umm. It's me. Lucy, I'm kind of on your crew."

"Yeah. I know. Purple pig tails right?"

The twenty-year-old giggled at him. That combined with the slurred words made him sit up on the edge of the bed and flip on the light. Drunk kid, plus restricted number at five in the morning meant one thing.

"Where did they pick you guys up?"

"Out by the marina. We weren't doin' nothing. Just hangin' out. Guess the little berry didn't like girls."

"I'm sure. Who all is we?" Troy asked almost certain Lucy had been picked up with Peaches. The two of them were joined at the hip.

"Well me, Peaches. Then there was Ginger, and, um..."

He had been rubbing his hand over his forehead but when she got all quiet his hand stopped. "Who else?"

"She told me not to call you, though. Said we should call Johnny or Dex. But you told us to always call you, if we got jammed up."

_Fuck_. The sneaking suspicion about their fourth ate at him, and the reason Lucy offered almost made him cringe. "I need to know who it is so that I can get you guys released."

"Furia. But don't tell Memo, okay? He'd be really pissed."

"No doubt." Troy stood and crossed the room. "All right I'll be down there as soon as I can get this worked out."

He hung up the phone and dropped it on top of the dresser as he walked into the bathroom. _You can't even manage to get twelve hours free of her_ , he thought staring at his reflection. What Lucy had said about Furia suggesting they call someone else to bail them out was odd. _Or not. After your little display at Samson's and her disappearing like that, you really shouldn't be surprised by that reaction at all._

When his phone started up again, Troy grabbed it quickly.

"Hey pal. Just heard that name you were asking about."

This was not the phone call Troy wanted to take at that moment. "You don't say."

"Yeah. Looks like a patrolman dragged in some of your girls. Lucy Nguyen, Ginger Jackson, Mary Carlisle, and a girl with no ID. She refused to give the boys in booking a name at first. But one of the other girls called her Furia. So that's what they charged her under," Alan stated matter-of-factly.

The heavy sigh was involuntary. Bradshaw could tell this was going to be a pain in the ass. "What were they picked up on?"

"Drunk and disorderly. Solicitation. Nguyen on a charge of public lewdness. And this Furia girl--she's a piece of work. Jesus. Solicitation of an officer. Assault on an officer. And resisting arrest. In addition to everything else, of course."

"Of course." _What the hell did you do?_ He knew Furia had a protective streak. It got her in some odd spots--like driving the demo derby to backup Mikey. And there were rumors that she had a knack for making ex-boyfriend's cry. Troy let that stay a rumor; he was nearly certain he did not want to know precisely what that entailed.

"Apparently she slipped this kid, Leal's grip when he went to cuff her. Broke his nose."

"I thought word was to give the Saints a wide berth?" Troy asked rubbing at his neck as he leaned in the doorway of his bathroom.

"Oh, it is. But apparently these girls did not get the reciprocal suggestion."

"Shit," Bradshaw muttered.

"The report is damn near priceless. Rookie asked them to keep it down. It escalates how these things usually do. And apparently that new girl you were asking about has a soft spot for the uniform. He says she propositioned him. Offered up a trade," Alan disclosed with a trace of laughter in his voice.

Troy felt the tightness in his jaw. That turn off events did not match the woman Bradshaw thought he knew. But then he reminded himself that he really didn't know her all that well. Even so, deep down he was near certain the report was fiction.

"How long?" the undercover detective asked.

"Oh, I can make a call and get the first three out in ten minutes. Don't know that the desk sergeant out there will be quite so forgiving with other girl."

"Why's that?"

"She didn't play well with the booking officers. Nearly broke a man's hand when they tried to print her. And from what I heard there are more than a few boys down there who are going to walk with a limp for a while."

"Christ! What the fuck is going on down there?" Troy asked, leaning back against the doorframe and staring at the ceiling. One thing he knew about Furia for damn certain was that she was not stupid. Breaking a cop's hand in the station, in front of any number of other officers--he could only imagine it was reciprocal, or at least that's what he hoped.

"Hell if I know, but she made one hell of an impression. You want me to get the other three in the works?"

"No. Not yet."

Troy preferred not to admit it, but he knew they were better off in custody together. He would have sought a quick resolution to the issue but knew it was highly unlikely given whatever set Furia off. He had seen some firsthand and heard enough secondhand to know that more than likely anything Furia did was in self-defense, or else she was standing up for one of the other three. The precinct that policed the marina district had a reputation for its handling of suspected prostitutes. The insinuation on its own stuck in his craw.

"Call the captain. Tell him that girl is important to Julius and this will wrench things up. She's part of something that will get us inside information on the Los Carnales Columbian connection."

"That thing you mentioned the other day?"

"Yeah. You could say it looks like Little and Jackson have her pegged as their quarterback on this deal."

"Really. I wouldn't figure they would put a new kid in charge of something like this."

"I told you. Little is looking at her, really hard. She won't be new for long," Troy stated, rubbing at the back of his neck again.

"Yeah, I bet. And I can see why." His partner's lascivious laugh made Troy's shoulders tighten as Markovson added, "She is quite a looker. Not surprised the boys pegged her as an earner."

"Yeah well, they pegged wrong." Bradshaw regretted as soon as he heard the disdain in his own voice. "Can you make those calls for me? I'm going to see if I can't smooth things over on this side before they get back."

"Sure thing, Troy."

 

**-4-**

A young male officer pulled the door open, allowing a thickset female officer to lead the tall lanky young woman through the door. If Alan Markovson were honest with himself, the outfit was suggestive enough that he might have mistakenly pegged her for a working girl himself, at least at first glance. The clincher for him would have been the shoes. _Those boots scream comfortable, not tempting_ , he thought as he shifted slightly in his own too-similar pair.

The duty officer for the female inmates pushed Furia down into the chair opposite Markovson and left. When the door closed, the young man took up a position in the corner. The detective was all too aware that if looks could kill, homicide would be in this room rather than him.

"Ay, Quequito. Didn't get enough last night?" the Latina taunted with a luscious little pucker.

As the patrolman stepped forward, Alan froze him in a glance. "That will be all, Officer. I think I can handle it from here."

The kid muttered something derogatory about Vice and walked out.

"So, Papí. You want to try your luck, too?"

Alan glanced at her over his shoulder. The look worked. She straightened just a little and seemed cool her ire a touch.

"You want out of those cuffs?" the detective offered.

She stared at him for a long moment waiting for the other shoe to drop. He guessed maybe she was waiting for him to suggest he wanted something in trade. When he did not set any caveats to the suggestion, she seemed to relax.

"Sure. I've been in them since they set those bikers on us for sport."

He refused to betray his surprise. He knew the Northeastern District was a little on the rowdy side, but this was the first time Alan had heard it firsthand. Despite his vast knowledge of the way things worked in this station house he was not about show that he might believe her. He leaned one hip on the table and bent toward her, eyes sweeping over the scrapes, cuts, and bruises she was sporting.

"So, this is all from the fight in lock up?" He pointed lazily at her.

Furia laughed, leaning away from him to keep her distance, but still defiant. "You wish. Most of this was you guys out at the pier. The bikers barely touched us, of course same would have been true for your baby brothers, except women in handcuffs aren't quite an adequate match for freely-wielded nightsticks."

"And did they cuff you all after the fight in lock up?" Alan asked, turning the file on the desk and checking the notes he had read over.

"Just me," she said with a quick grin.

"What were you guys doing at the Marina last night?"

"Celebrating. Talking. Singing really bad renditions of horrible songs from the 80s."

"No wonder they arrested you," he said with a light laugh. It was intended to ease the tension in the room, but failed. Her eyes were still cool and sharp; this woman was not taking the bait. "Officer Leal said that you propositioned him when he asked you guys to move on."

She laughed and shook her head. "Yeah, whatever. He's like twelve and I'm not a big fan of blue. If you couldn't tell, purple's a little more my style." She sat up slightly and crossed her ankles rather delicately as she tilted her gaze toward him. "How about you tell me what it is you boys want me to say, so we can get this game over with? Then I can either go home or back to a cell. Your call."

When he looked into her eyes, he knew she was not kidding. She was entirely serious and that fact disturbed him more than he expected. The other two women he knew to be affiliated with the Saints had been cautiously forthcoming about the events of the previous night. The third, Ginger, had no connection to the gang he could find, except her companions, and she freely divulged everything that happened. Detective Markovson could not be certain why the fourth would not respond similarly.

Alan stood and paced the table length a few times before he stopped and stared at her. Her hazel eyes followed him with scrutiny. She did not trust him, and the experienced detective was fairly certain he could not gain her confidence in one interview.

"Why don't we try this again? Stand up," he ordered, rounding the table and taking the cuffs off her wrists. He took careful note of the bruising on her arms, it did not look like the product of a bare-handed brawl.

Sitting across from her, Alan closed the file and looked her in the eye. "What happened last night?"

"Does it really matter? Three of us are known affiliates of a gang. Our word means nothing against the word of one of your cops, dirty or not. So whatever I say is meaningless. I might as well tell you we were all abducted by aliens, held in some type of zoo and made to fight one another for our continued survival. You want answers, Detective? You're going to have to find them yourself, because I don't have them." She rubbed her wrists delicately as she spoke, then laid them in her lap.

"Humor me. What's your name?"

She stared at him for a long time. "Furia."

"Your real name."

"That's what everyone calls me. So by that I'd take it to be my name."

"Do you have a last name?"

"Do you?" she asked smartly.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Lacing his fingers together atop the file, he met her gaze and held it. "Detective Alan Markovson, Vice. Pleasure to meet you."

"Like I already said. Furia, Saint."

"Look, Miss…" He waited for her to fill in the blank.

"Fur-i-a. Would you like me to spell it for you?"

"Fine," Alan started, but the shivering rumble in his pocket pulled his attention from her. "Excuse me a minute."

 

**-5-**

The door clicked closed behind the detective, and Furia ran her hand roughly through her hair. She groaned when her fingers caught on a thick knot of something--she was sure she would rather not know what. For a moment she tried to work it free manually, but the sharp pain that accompanied her effort to undo some of the disheveling of the last several hours compelled her to leave it.

Furia had no time or patience for this. She assumed whatever this interrogation was over was an issue predetermined, or else this guy was just trying to pump her for information on the Saints. Whatever the reason, she had no plans to play along. And if they did not know who she was, there was no chance that she would clarify that issue for them. If they asked the right people, the cops would get that answer with more detail than they really wanted, but for now she was merely content that her jacket did not link her to her family.

She turned the file toward her and flipped it open, leisurely reading the scant contents. A gruff derisive laugh spurted from her lips when she read the incident report Quequito, or Officer Leal, rather, had written.

The rapping on the one-way mirror resounded through the room. She assumed that whoever it was wanted to discourage her from her perusal of the file she had opened. She held the gesture up clearly and for long enough that she was sure whoever they were clearly understood that they could knock all they wanted.

"This guy is a piece of work," she muttered just as the door opened.

"How so?" Markovson asked.

The fact that he did not confiscate the file from her, made her curious. "Do I strike you as the type of girl stupid enough to proposition an on duty cop? In uniform, no less? And that's just if you assume I'm a pro."

The detective eyed her a little more openly than she would have preferred. "Doubtful."

"Lucy flirted with him when he came over and told us we'd have to vacate. And we did do a little playful pleading. But seriously, there was nothing about any of us that suggested we were working the Marina. We were just … hanging out. And last I checked that was still legal in this city."

"That doesn't explain away the assault charge," Markovson replied, leaning onto the table toward her.

Furia mimicked the action, leaning back in her chair and looking up at him. "Did you read what he wrote about that? I put my arm over his shoulder. That's it. I get that you guys can call a simple handshake assault. But believe me. If he really wants to be assaulted, I'd be more than happy to oblige."

The corner of his lip twitched. If she did not know better, she might have thought he was as amused by the suggestion as she was. "And slipping your cuffs?"

"My friends were cuffed and as soon as they try to put the bracelets on me, _then_ the nightsticks come out. I wasn't born yesterday, Papí. I slipped the cuffs, and asked a few questions while I could still respond in kind."

"Until they did the take down."

"You're guys are sloppy. My baby brothers have more effective moves." She twitched slightly realizing her misstep. Not a big one, but still it was more than she wanted to give him.

"And what about the booking officer with two broken fingers."

"That old bastard needs to keep his hands to himself," Furia advised.

She stared at him for a long time, while he looked at her like he was trying to figure out a puzzle. Finally the detective stood and offered her his hand. "Come on. You're free to go."

Sliding her chair back, Furia stood under her own power. The gesture, she knew to be his attempt to distinguish himself from the other officers she met at that station, but her trust was thin for anyone in blue. Markovson only seemed marginally offended by her refusal to accept his assistance. Escorting her to the door, he started to open it, but closed it again as she moved toward the exit.

Furia stopped and looked up at him. When he leaned toward her she mirrored the action, keeping the distance between them. He grabbed her upper arm and tugged at her gently. Her entire body tightened like a spring about to go off, but she did not react initially. His voice was low and held a note of concern that furrowed her brow. "Watch yourself, Miss Furia. And I'd avoid the Marina for a while."

"Ya think?"

Alan smiled at her. Furia crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Let's go," he relented.

Noticing the glares cast in her direction as they exited, set her on edge. She knew full well that the escort was likely not procedure and more for her safety than she wanted to admit. When they got to the double doors he handed her a large manila envelope for her to check over. It looked like everything was there.

Again, playing the chivalrous gentleman, the detective opened the door for her. The brightness outside blinded her momentarily when they stepped out.

"Furia," he said, pulling her attention to her right. "I really hope we don't meet like this again."

"You and me both."

"Have a good day."

When she started down the stairs, the honk drew her attention. _Fuck me_ , she thought with a deep groan as she noticed the black Bootlegger and the driver in the blatant purple button down. His face was unreadable, but his hazel eyes were dark.

"You know what gets me," she said as she approached him. "The three of us were wearing hints of purple--" she pulled the scarf out of the envelope Markovson had given her "--and we catch all hell. You are standing in front of the police station like the Saints' fucking poster boy with nothing to show for it."

"Difference is," Bradshaw began, pushing himself away from the car. "I didn't call any cops Cupcake or insinuate they could only get it up for a priest."

"I call 'em like I see 'em," she quipped, her irritation brimming--at the situation and at his presence.

Troy closed the distance between them and loomed over her for a moment. His voice was gentle and even, despite her reaction. "Get in the car Furia."


	10. Pushing Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Troy's the man the Saints call when the SPD decides they would like to see some purple in their lockup, of course he quickly realizes that he's the last person Furia wants to see after her first stay on the city's dime. The way the women were roughed up in custody does not sit well with any of the Saints, which leaves Julius and most of his lieutenants concerned, especially for the one of the quartet that exacted well-deserved payback on Stilwater's Finest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to Chy for use of her amazing eyes and fabulous suggestions.

** **

**10 Pushing Back**

**-1-**

Markovson's little nod went unreturned. Troy's blood boiled as his partner leaned over the young woman standing next to him. Bradshaw knew that look. Alan was trying to establish a connection; if Troy had to hazard a guess, the older officer wanted to turn her into an informant.

 _Alan you've really got a set of brass balls on you. Christ._ The younger detective shook his head. If his guess was correct, his situation stood to become that much hairier, because not only would be standing in this weird place--not quite cop, not quite Saint. His partner might well put him in a position of trying to make Furia flip. With a long exhale he tried to push the thought out of his mind.

This bust would not sit well with the Saints, especially Johnny and Julius. Hell, it didn't set well with Troy. The other three girls had been roughed up--bruising on their wrists from the cuffs and Lucy had a little cut on her cheekbone from being slapped--but Furia seemed to have taken the brunt of it. From talking to the other girls, Troy knew the retaliation came because she called one or more of the officers out on the trumped up charges. If there were even cause to arrest any of them at the time, which he doubted, he could not see her actions justifying the response.

The tension crept over his shoulders, tightening his neck. Standing there on his old turf, wearing someone else's flag, Bradshaw had been straining against the dichotomy for quite a while, but this was the first time he had been forced to stare it in the face. What made it even more trying was the long-legged Latina lithely traversing the stairs. In that instant, his loyalty lay with the Saints, with her, not with Markovson, or the Stilwater PD.  He could not even pretend to doubt even a shred of what the other young women told he and Johnny when they picked them up hours earlier.

Despite that, the sudden realization that things were grayer than he thought was pushed even further in to the murkiness, when Furia glared up at him. Clearly, he was not the person she wanted to see right now. Her impatience with his presence and her irritation became even clearer with the greeting she offered. Once he got her in the car, Bradshaw breathed a little easier.

"What are you even doing here?" Furia asked when he opened the driver's side door. Her voice was sharp, pinched; he guessed it was likely due fully justifiable tension.

Lucy and Peaches told him about the fight in lockup, and about the cops hooking Furia up after their little prize fight in the holding cell. Ginger's guess, he knew, was right; the officers did not want Furia able to defend herself in the next round. Troy leaned an arm on the door and cast a glance back at his partner, who offered the undercover cop a little nod before he entered the building. That's one thing Alan had done right; he got Furia out of the holding cell and into probably the only relatively safe spot in that precinct at the moment--an interview room with him.

 _Damnit._ Bradshaw bent and glanced across the car at her. Furia had her arms wrapped tightly around herself and the blank look on her face disturbed him more than he would ever think about saying. The other girls had been shaken up, but this was not their first time through processing. From everything he could dig up, Furia had not gone through anything like last night. Troy unbuttoned his shirt quickly as he looked over at her.

"I'm here because this is my job. I piss people off, and I get Saints stupid enough to get arrested out of lock up."

"Fuck you, Troy," she bit back.

He tossed the shirt at her when he climbed into the car.

"Put it on," he ordered as he started the car.

She rolled her eyes and looked out the window, ignoring the shirt. With a glance back at the station, he swallowed back the bile rising in his throat. Even if he could figure out how to respond to her, he could not do it here.

He shifted the Bootlegger into first and jumped through the gears quickly as he headed southeast. There was not really a destination in his head, just the need to not be near his stomping grounds, or hers for that matter, when he pulled onto the familiar deserted road. She seemed oblivious until the pavement ended; then her head came up and her eyes scanned the area.

"What are we doing up here?" she asked quietly. The ire that had sharpened her tongue seemed to have dissipated astonishingly.

Choosing not to answer, mainly because he did not have a reason to be up here, Troy cut the engine and set the parking brake. He hazarded a glance at her, the ferociousness in her eyes when she greeted him at the station house was gone. He knew he should have lectured her, like he had the other girls, even Ginger who was not even one of theirs. He should be terse with her, pretend to be just angry enough to impart the need for caution. But he couldn't bring himself to do any of those things. He just wanted …

_Christ!_

Troy pushed the door open and escaped the shrinking interior of the vehicle. The voice in his head was screaming; both sides of him, the cop and the pretend gangbanger, knew he was being an idiot. He was painting a target on her, on himself. Still, she was the only thing he could think of.

_What the fuck did you bring her out here for? What the hell were you thinking?_

"Damnit," he whispered at the trunk as he pressed his hands against the deck. In frustration he brought his fist down against the lid once, then twice more repeating the same profanity each time.

With the metal whine of the car door opening, his eyes met hers as she shrugged on the shirt he had tossed at her earlier.

"Now you listen," he growled. "And this time I hope you hear what I'm telling you, since, obviously, all those times I or Johnny or Jules told you guys to steer clear of the cops didn't sink in. I'm sure Memo and Miguel probably said it too. But even so, even on top of all the warnings to steer clear of SPD ,you four decide to give some rookie with a hero complex a fucking hard time, and look where it landed you."

He straightened and closed on her quickly.  "From what the girls said, that detective probably saved your ass by pulling you for questioning. Do you have any idea what could have happened in there?"

"Does it matter?"

"Goddamnit Furia," he yelled, looming over her. His voice softened after a long moment.  "Of course, it matters."

When he yelled her glare had returned, the change in his voice altered the way she looked at him. _My God, she can see it,_ he thought as his eyes locked on hers. It felt like a dare; like that stoic, sharp look from the kid on the playground in grade school as they called out those stupid double or triple dog dares. Troy was not biting, he could not bite, he reminded himself as he turned and started back toward the trunk. 

_What the hell were you thinking?_ He asked himself.

The warmth of her hand around his wrist stopped everything--his retreat, his breathing, even his racing thoughts paused, waiting for the response. Every muscle in his body seemed to go rigid when he heard her light steps in the dirt, when he sensed her closeness; her hand slid up his arm. Then she said his name, in that accented low voice of hers, the one that hinted at an intimacy he wanted, but shouldn't.

"Troy," she repeated in that voice as warm and solid as smoky amber.

He finally turned his head toward her. The softness in her eyes scared him more than the call from Markovson the night before had. Even the tilt of her head as she gazed up at him like that set him on edge.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry …" Her hand stopped near his elbow as the muscles in his arm flexed tighter. "Everyone," she said in a voice that seemed to create even more separation than that one word, as if she knew how hard he was fighting.

And maybe she did. Even so, he knew it would not change a thing. He closed his eyes slowly and turned away again, finding he needed the distance. Even if that gap was only in his own head.

"Are you all right?" he asked, in a quiet voice.

Though his body relaxed when her hand left his arm, it was a momentary reprieve. Because the moment the temptation of her touch was removed, the craving for its return boiled to the surface.

"I'm fine. Mostly bruises and scratches. No worse than my canonization," she said with a light laugh as her voice got a little farther away.

"I should have taken you home." He crossed his arms over his chest, turning his body slightly so he could catch sight of her.

She was sitting on the passenger's seat, legs crossed at the ankles and shoulders high and back. Strangely, it reminded him of his mother and sister and he wondered for a moment if Furia had taken etiquette classes; that had been how his sister learned that particular posture. Her legs shifted slightly as she leaned back across the seat.

"No," she replied, her voice muffled. "I think this might be better."

The last statement was accompanied by the unmistakable sound of the slide of his pistol, which he had stowed under the driver's seat when he arrived at the station earlier. He had felt there was no need to tempt fate or any overzealous officers.

"Furia," he said calmly, facing her.

She stood, pistol pointed at the ground as she walked across the empty lot toward the very utilitarian table bolted to a slab of concrete. When the woman neared that landmark, the gun rose and her steps slowed. Both hands on the weapon she took aim and fired in three-round bursts until the clip was dry.

He could not help the little snort of approval at the adequate placement of her shots, and when she slammed the second clip into the gun and chambered the first round, the corner of his mouth turned upward with a nod. Then Furia repeated the same action.

"I see you found my extra clip," he called from a few feet behind her--his hands stuffed in his pockets like a kleptomaniac trying to exercise some control over his desires.

"Didn't take much of a search, jefe." Her tone was lighter, but there was nothing relaxed about it. "You have more in the trunk, right?"

"No." He shook his head. "Figured a trunk full of weapons with questionable sources and a metric fuck ton of ammunition might be a bad call considering."

She smiled and he relaxed a little. "Probably a good call."

"Pretty decent shooting."

There was a little shrug in her shoulders. "Not really. Just still a little pissed off."

"Understandable, given the situation. But it was a little better than your usual." He opted to keep some space between them. "Listen--"

The high-pitched screech of _Free Your Mind_ interrupted his train of thought, and Furia dug her phone out of what seemed to be a very tight pocket, if her maneuvering were any clue.

"Dime," she grumbled at the caller while she looked at Troy like she wanted to know what he was going to say.

When her eyes closed and she propped the back of her hand on her hip as she paced slowly, still holding onto the now empty pistol tightly, he figured it was one of the guys. If he had to harbor a guess, Bradshaw would say Dex or someone else who tried her patience judging by the reaction. Of course given the current situation, that could be just about anyone. Though it likely was not Johnny, usually he made her laugh, but then Gat tended to make everyone laugh.

She tucked the phone back into her pocket and eyed him for a moment fidgeting with the safety on the gun cradled in her hands. "Any chance I could bum a ride to the church?" she asked with a noticeable wince.

Troy considered it, but in the end he felt an alternative might be better in the long run. "Keys are in the ignition. Just don't get into any drag races with her," he said with a strained grin. "Or police chases."

Uncertain how to read the look she gave him, he kind of wanted it to be disappointment, but he knew that was likely his own selfish desire. She handed him the weapon she had used for her little impromptu practice stint and exercise of frustration.

"I'll try to resist the urge," she replied and something in the way she spoke the carefully chosen phrase made him wonder if she was merely talking about his car.

Troy did not watch her drive off. Nor did he place a call for anyone to pick him up either. He needed the time, the peace that came with being no one, nowhere for a few moments. He could still hear the hints of traffic noise, but he could also hear the rustle of the leaves, the twittering of birds, the soft whisper of the breeze, which were a little more prominent. It reminded him of summers in the country with his grandparents--quiet, slow, relaxing.

He knew he was losing the battle with himself. Nothing was clear cut anymore. The Saints were no longer the bad guys, and every time he looked too hard he realized the cops were not exactly the good guys. Furia just made it all the more confusing. Of the counts he had witnessed, she was a murderer, a criminally reckless driver, and a car thief. Thus far her jacket was still pretty thin, but he knew that would only last so long. Julius had plans for her. Troy knew before it was all said and done her rap sheet could be as thick as any of the other lieutenants, even the very generous one that had been fabricated to make him seem legit.

"This is a mistake Troy," he reminded himself as he sat atop a little rise in the berm and looked down at the city as the morning woke everything below him. "This isn't your life. You can't possibly think this is a good idea, giving in to whatever this is. It will just end badly, all the way around. Especially for her."

But that was precisely the thing. The logic did not matter. Reason was not a factor, and it only managed to take him so far. No matter all the factors that made taking up with her the worst idea possible, he could not keep Furia out of his head. Part of him still wondered how a veritable nice girl had gotten mixed up in all of this craziness, but that did not matter in comparison to how he had been so foolish as to develop an interest in her.

When the familiar ring tone broke through the relative silence of the site of his temporary disappearance, he answered it immediately. Flicking the cigarette away, he ran his hand through his hair.

"What do you need, Johnny?"

_"Where are you?"_

 

**-2-**

Johnny fumed over the entire situation. His anger had not dimmed one iota from the time Troy called him before dawn that morning. The waiting only made it worse, as did the conversation with the women that had been in the Marina. Peaches, Lucy, and Furia's friend had all long since gone home. And someone, he was not sure who, had run interference and distracted the one he really wanted to talk to for the last several hours, but he expected he would see Furia when he and Troy returned to the church.

The two of them rushed past the handful of people still hanging out in the vestibule, and entered the boss' office in time to catch the tail end of whatever diatribe Little had been on.

"I'd love to know what the hell you guys were thinking," Julius barked.

There was no answer. In truth, they all knew no response would really matter or clarify the issue. Troy had warned Johnny that Furia looked a little rougher for wear, but he was not quite expecting the description to be as accurate as it was. The bruising on her legs made his teeth grind together as his anger flared again as it had with the younger girls. But it was the vibrant purpling bruise on her cheek that mixed into the black eye which really threw him over the edge.

Gat crossed to her quickly.  His reaction was instinctual, as he grabbed her hand and yanked her sleeve up. When his eyes rose to hers, Johnny could almost feel the sting of the sharp edge of her glare. Leaning toward her a little closer, he menacingly said, "All I need is a name."

When her eyes widened, he was not sure what to expect, but of the things he might have considered plausible, her reply was not among them. She yanked her hand free and staggered him as she pushed him away.

"Fuck you, Johnny." She stared at him for a long moment, her anger almost palpable. Then her gaze shifted, travelling the room.

"You know what, screw every damn one of you," she said, gesturing widely at the lot of them. "If this happened to Mikey or Thunder or Dean-O you'd be on their ass like a rash. Yeah, that berry stepped to us, but we stepped back."

Furia took two steps toward the Saint's enforcer and poked Johnny sharply in the chest. "You don't need a damned name, because I handled it my-fucking-self. Like a motherfucking big girl should."

The irate woman dipped her hand in her pocket and moved toward the door. She pressed Troy's keys into his palm. And as she passed, Bradshaw stepped out of her way. Johnny could not blame him a bit, though he could not help the urge to smile. She had more guts than he thought she did, and he knew she had more than most.

"What the hell was that?" Johnny asked Troy.

"She's a little pissed about the big brother treatment would be my guess?" Troy noted.

"You think? And what the hell did she mean?"

"That's why it took longer to spring her. She broke a booking officer's fingers and some rookie's nose. Way I heard it, she gave as good as she got."

Johnny chuckled lightly. He could not say he was surprised; she could probably give her brother Memo a run for his money in a fight. And that kid was among the best when it came to hands on work.

"Shit," Julius groaned as he fell into his chair. "The cops are going to be gunning for her. We're going to need to keep people with her, Troy."

"Excuse me? Not going to happen. Or did you just miss what happened. If she's willing to get in Johnny's face, she'll rip my goddamn jugular out," the Saints' second replied, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall near the door.

"We should keep her off the streets," Dex told the clipboard he was studying.

Something in the tone and the other man's disinterest made Johnny eye the ambitious lieutenant suspiciously. It was no secret that Furia and Dex ruffled one another's feathers. Johnny really did not know why; the work she did for him made him look good, though Gat was aware that she was not one to just quietly go along with everything. The enforcer could not help but think that perhaps the other man's suggestion might be about more than keeping an eye out for one of their own.

"We all know the damn cops are going to be all over her, given the chance. I prefer not to open the door for them," Little observed, rubbing at his forehead tiredly. "We don't need this right now."

"I might be able to keep her busy," Johnny offered.

He knew he would not be able to shadow her, or have anyone else do it. But maybe he could come up with something. If he couldn't, he knew Lin might be able to send a few distractions Furia's way. Gat also knew it wouldn't take much to get Lin on board with the distraction route; she had similar experiences with Stilwater's finest.

Troy tapped a cigarette out of his pack and nodded as his hand dove into his pocket for a lighter. "I'll see if I can't find a few things to help him keep her under wraps, as well."

Gat knew the best call was Dex's--get her to lay low for a bit. Of course, one thing he had already noticed about the young woman people were still calling the _new girl_ was that she preferred to be busy, or so it seemed. He knew that getting her to lay low was going to be about as possible as getting him to agree to something like that. She wanted to work, and she was good, damned good. It would be a major loss to their momentum if she was cooped up and kept out of the loop, but he knew they would just have to suffer through that.

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the table Furia had been perched on when they arrived. With a glance at Troy he could see that at least one other person in the room shared his opinion. If they kept her busy, kept her with people they trusted, they might just be able to keep the cops at bay until things cooled off. Gat also knew that cops had a long memory, especially the dirty ones. Those guys would bide their time to get a crack at her.

At the thought of what Bradshaw told them about Furia's reactions, Johnny smiled with a little trace of satisfaction. People usually did not surprise him, but this one. She was like lightning--shocking and brilliant. He could see why Julius pulled her in and every time Johnny turned around Furia proved that whatever the big guy was thinking when he recruited her, he was dead on track.

 

**-3-**

"Hey Furia! How're you feeling?" Mikey asked quickly as he mounted the steps.

"You know what? Bite me, man."

"Whoa! Ease back, chica." Mikey held his hands up in surrender.

Furia stopped and stared at him, a deep sigh dropping her shoulders when she crossed her arms. The eyebrow she quirked up at him was familiar, so he answered the unspoken question.

"I was just wondering if you might be feeling up for a little something-something."

She stared at him for a long moment, tilting her head as she studied him. "What kind of something?"

Mikey figured if she was interested enough to ask she might just be willing to drive for them.  He stuffed his hands in his pockets and scrunched up his shoulders a little. "Me, Paulie, and Memo are running a Heist Night."

"Memo?"

"Yeah," Mikey said with a little wince. "He's kind of the muscle, if we need it."

Furia nodded then stepped down a stair toward him, looming over him so he had to tip his head back to look up at her. "And what precisely is this Heist Night?"

"Paulie lined up a few fences and we're going to do a little targeted shopping, but we need a really good driver," he explained with a crooked little smile.

"How many places?"

"Ten on the schedule, maybe a few more if time allows."

"Okay, that sounds heavy and possibly workable," she said crossing her arms.

He could almost see her working it out as she stared at a spot just over his shoulder.

"I need three cars, seeded along the route. Four doors, obviously. Lots of truck space. And no compacts, that will just get ugly. I'll find us something workable for the first few. Is the route set?"

Mikey nodded. "Paulie drew it up. Thus far we are hitting pairs in different parts of town. Two here, then to the arena, the museum, the barrio, you get the idea. Keeping them separate. And we're using different fences for the northern and southern islands to cut down on travel and so we can drop some heat when we're unloading."

"Sounds like a good plan, though regardless of route we might still get boxed up on the last set or two," she said, walking down the steps.

"I was wondering the same thing," he agreed, even if it was only a little true. He had thought after the first three the cops might be able to pick out a pattern, but he really hoped maybe he was reading too much into it. "So you'll do it?"

"Why not," she said with a shrug. "What time are we starting this little tour?" She pulled out her phone and woke up the display.

"Sunset. About six."

"I'm going to head home for a bit. I'll pick up our first ride. Are we meeting here?"

"Sure. Yeah."

"Have Paulie pick up a thermos of that coffee from his mother's shop. Tell him the good kind, he'll know what I mean."

"You got it, boss," Mikey said without too much thought, at least until she stopped, turned, and stared at him. "Sorry, Furia."

"No big. Just watch it."

"Will do."

When Furia started back up the street, Mikey threw a silent but triumphant fist in the air. His little celebration dance ended quickly when he heard the match strike. He set his hands on his hips, trying to look calmer than he really was as Troy stared at him.

"What was that about?" the lieutenant asked, exhaling a stream of smoke.

"Oh, nothing."

"You looked awfully excited for it to be nothing."

"Umm. It's Paulie's deal. Not really for me to say," Mikey replied, as he had been told.

Troy nodded at him, taking another drag. "She's going to help you out with Paulie's little fence fest tonight?"

"Uh… Yeah. Looks like." Mikey never really was certain why Bradshaw made him so nervous. It just seemed like the guy could see right through him, anyone really. The scrutiny put the kid on edge.

"That's one hell of a lucky break for you guys."

"That's for sure. I should probably go talk to Paulie," Mikey said, thumbing back behind him before he turned.

"Keep an eye on her, Mikey. Julius' orders."

His pace faltered and he cast a glance back at the man leaning against the pillar near the door of the church. "Will do."

The younger man was nearly certain Furia did not need anyone to watch out for her. _Hell, half the time she's watching my back._ As it was she had already saved his skin more than a few times, even if some of those times were just because his mouth was bigger than his brain. If the way she reacted to him earlier were any indicator, Mikey was pretty sure exactly how she would respond if she had any idea what just happened. Of course, after being pounced on for a simple question he was not about to rattle that cobra's basket again if it could be avoided.

He would, however, do what Troy asked him. And he would try do it as carefully as possible to avoid repercussions on either front. Neither of them, Furia or Troy, were the types of people he wanted to be on the bad side of.

 

**-4-**

Memo leaned against the opening in the brick fence that surrounded the church's graveyard. He had heard about these little schemes of Paulie's. When they paid off, the plans could be flush, but his record was little better than 50/50, if that. Sliding his sleeve over the bulge on his wrist he checked the time. He hated being early, but it was one of the things he got from his sister. He could not handle being late for anything.

When he heard the rumble of a big engine approaching from up the street, Memo felt his chest tighten. _Fuck. I should have known better than to take Paulie at his word._ He tried to reason it out; she was the best choice, besides Lin, Furia was probably the best driver the Saints had and, of all people, he knew she was the smoothest handler behind the wheel. Of course he hated that it was his sister, but with skills like hers it was stupid to even think of asking anyone else to get behind the wheel for something like this. Even given that, Memo still was not crazy about the fact that she was coming along tonight, or that she was a part of this life, but they had already had that discussion. She knew his opinions, and he knew that she had no intentions of changing anything as yet.

When she got out of the car, he noticed she had dressed for the occasion as well. All black, with her hair braided tight, and she already had her gloves on, which told him that the car was newly stolen. He took the cue and tugged on his own gloves as well. No reason to make her have to wipe the car down.

"Oye, hermanito," she greeted with a grin as she hopped onto the driver's side front quarter panel. 

"Where did you get the Stiletto?" he asked, crossing to the car.

"Long term parking at the airport. Nobody will miss it for at least a day or two, and she comes complete with very spacious trunk and automatic windows," she said as if she were a salesman.

"You are too good at this." He shook his head. She really had thought of everything. _It's almost scary how much of a knack she seems to have for this shit_.

"Don't know if I should take that as a compliment or not," she replied, pressing her hands against the hood on either side of her legs.

"That makes two of us," he said. "But either way I'm kind of glad you're coming along tonight. If only so I can keep an eye on you."

"You know what--"She hopped off the hood and moved toward him.

Memo closed the distance between them in a handful of steps. "You're my sister, Tati. Older or not, I'm still going to look out for you just like I do Socorro."

"Is that the reason why half the guys in that church start staring at the wall when I walk in?" she queried, tilting her head toward her shoulder as she looked up at him.

"So I warned them off."

"Threatened them off," she countered with a little smile.

"Broken finger here. Bruised kidney there. Why's it matter? Not like any of them are your type any way."

"Oh, really? And what is it you think my type is?"

He shrugged. In all honesty, he had no idea what kind of guy--or girl, he through errantly--might interest his sister. She had never introduced anyone to the family. Hell, he had only ever even heard about one fella she dated; even that was after she broke up with him and had Miguel cube his car.

"I don't know. But not guys like this. Like me," he said the last word quietly.

She held his face in her hands and patted his cheek then rose on her toes to kiss him on the forehead. "I don't know. I think any girl would be lucky to have a guy like you, even if you are a little gruff around the edges. But we both know you're just a big softie at heart, Memito." She slapped him on the shoulder.

"Lucky for me you're the only one that knows that," he replied with a rough chuckle.

"Hola, mi bonita chica," Paulie said as he clapped then rubbed his palms together with a big grin on his face.

"Hey Paulie," Memo greeted, taking the man's hand and leaning into the pseudo hug.

Furia, however, rounded the pair, ignoring the offered hand. "Get in the car. And for the record, Paulie, I'm not your anything."

Memo did not even try to hide the grin. Mikey laughed scandalously and took way too much pleasure out of the woman's comment. Paulie's scowl said it all. She had stung him yet again. Furia's brother barely felt sorry for him, kind of; Guillermo had warned him more than once. The younger brother knew he would not have to worry much about any guy his sister was not interested in, not really. She had no problem cutting them down herself, which she had done with a handful of the Saints that had hit on her publically. Even so, her brother still put the warning out there. He really did not want any of them to even try. But knowing his sister as well as he did, his worry would not kick into high gear until she actually did meet a guy that captured her interest.

As he slid into the front passenger seat of the convertible, he really hoped the point would be moot. That was something he preferred not to think about. _Especially tonight._


	11. Heist Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of the guys are planning an evening of fun and mayhem. Choosing Furia as their driver could turn out to be a blessing or a curse for Paulie who planned the criminal endeavor. Will her input help or hinder her first Heist Night?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, love and appreciation for all my readers, and special thank to Chyristis for all her help.

**11 Heist Night**

**-1-**

The quartet cruised waiting for darkness to wrap the city up tight. The four-cylinder engine purred brightly. This car was not built to run, but she was solid and Furia knew that the she would be free and clear for the first two runs as Mikey had described them. Of course, Furia really wanted to know what the hell Heist Night entailed, but Paulie guarded his plans like they were a national secret.

"Did Mikey deliver my message?" Furia asked with a glance over her shoulder at the man sitting behind her brother.

"What is it about this that you like so much?" Paulie asked tugging the thermos out of the bag he had brought with him and passing it to the front seat.

"It'll keep me up all night long."

Paulie laughed. "Well, if that's all you needed--"

When Memo turned toward him, the shorter man's mouth stalled. Furia just shook her head and smiled.

"So what exactly are we doing, besides grand larceny?"

Paulie stared at Memo as he detailed the plan to hit a few businesses around town who were paying for protection from the LC, the VKs, and two shops in the westside that the Rollerz had interest in.

"When are we hitting the suburbs?"

"I figured we'd hit close to home first, since things lock up tight earlier out here in the Row. Then hit the museum district before we hit the Rollerz territory."

"That could work." When they stopped at a red light she looked back at Paulie. "Mikey, what did you have stashed for me?"

"I thought big and innocuous would be the best way to go," Mikey said almost as if he were apologizing.

"Just tell me," she prompted, draping an arm over the seats and looking back at him.

The look on his face made her nervous.

"Nordberg, Quasar, and a Zimos are what I could get my hands on this quick."

"Stashed by the fences, I'm guessing?" Furia pulled forward with the light.

"Yep."

She tapped the steering wheel, her mind racing. _If anyone catches on, we'll never get out of the suburbs in any of those._ A list of cars that might work flashed through her head--Zomkah, Eiswolf, Cavallaro. _We need something more._ That's when one particular image flashed in her head--black gloss with cheesy orange and red flames covering the nose. _Yeah. That could work. She could definitely work._

Digging out her phone quickly she quickly found the name she was looking for. "Javier," she trilled when the line picked up.

_"How's things, chica?"_

"I need a favor."

_"¡Por dios!"_

Furia laughed loudly. "It's not that bad. I swear."

_"Yeah, right,"_ Javier groaned.

“I need you to find me some American muscle.”

_“Okay. But what’s the catch_.”

"So little faith."

_"What can I say? I'm a quick learner."_

Furia just chuckled at him again. “Fine. Catch is--she cannot be factory tuned.”

_“¡Chigado, mujer! Are you out of your mind? I can’t go boosting cars from flagged up racers?” Javier lectured with a low groan._

“Why not?”

_“Because I like my huevos where they are at. Thank you very much.”_

“You’re such a drama queen, Javier. I’ll get it back in one piece,” Furia promised as she wove through traffic leisurely, while the sky darkened.

_“You know, I’m starting to think Thunder and Dean-O might be right. You are one crazy bitch.”_

“Eat me.”

_“That an invitation?”_

“You wish. Now back to the car you’re going to boost for me, because I peeled that parasite off your ass in a dark alley.”

_“Owing you sucks,”_ Javier griped, but she heard him searching through papers, which sounded like a good sign. _“What are you looking for?”_

“Four doors. Empty trunk. And a specialized engine.”

The wordless groan muffled and she could almost see Javier burying his face in his hands. He knew as well as she did exactly what car she needed. The vague description fit one specific whip, sadly it was one that stood out like a sore thumb, but only because everyone knew it and its egocentric owner.

"I need Monica," Furia clarified. With a quick glance at the faces of the men in the Stiletto, she knew none of them were familiar enough with the racing scene in Stilwater to know the car’s name. Though, if she said the name Pedro Vu, they would all have wigged out on her.

_"Are you high?"_

"I. _Need_. Monica."

_"There is no way."_

"You worried about her daddy?"

Javier chuckled nervously. _"Yeah. And you should be too. If he finds out, he'll hunt us both down and the way I hear it you already have enough heat on you."_

"Let me worry about that. I need her. And I'll make sure not to muss the finish," Furia said with a big grin.

_"¡Diablo!"_ Javier replied with a long sigh. _"Let me make some calls and I'll see what I can do. I'm not promising anything. Got it!"_

"Sí. Yo la tengo, guey," Furia concluded with a big grin. She offered Memo a quick wink as she slid her phone back into her pocket.

"I don't even want to know, do I?" her brother asked. Her smirk made him shake of his head and scrape a gloved hand over his forehead. "¡Hijole!"

The driver clipped the right hand turn into the alleyway, with a gleeful cackle. In part it was a pleased response. She figured Javier would come through for her. He was the man in the Saints who could get anything, but this was a tall order peppered with enough dangerous that he might just balk at the request in the end. Of course, on the other side of the coin if he did manage to grab Monica from Pedro Vu and she messed up that sweet girl, there was not a stack of bills large enough to call off Vu or his Los Carnales dogs.

Pedro was one of their _delivery specialists_ , as Dex put it. Furia also heard through the grapevine that he got bit by the racing bug a few years back and spends his free time driving fast. He was the Carnales’ best driver across the board. He also had some of the biggest and sexiest American muscle in Stilwater. Monica was his baby--a tricked out Cavallaro with enough power under the hood to twist the chassis, at least according to Miguel. Her cousin had repaired just that type of damage on Monica and reinforced the frame to keep it from happening again. During the vehicle’s stint in Miguel’s shop, Furia got her one and only chance to drive Monica and a dark little part of her was hoping for a warm reunion that night.

That car would be perfect for their purposes. It would also give the Saints a little breathing room. Hitting targets in a car that well known would mean that initially the push might be pinned on the boys from the Southside, at least until Pedro Vu was able to convince everyone otherwise, which was a tenuous possibility. Furia was almost certain that if they used that ride to hit a place protected by the Vice Kings, as well as the two under Rollerz protection, Vu might just not be able to recover from the implication. And putting a large contributor to the Los Carnales out of circulation, while shaking up the protection rackets of the other gangs, could just put her back in good graces after the Marina incident.

When she reached the middle of the alleyway she stopped and cut the lights. Leaning back in the driver's seat she picked up the thermos, opening it and taking a quick sip to check the temperature of the café con leche from Paulie's mother's corner café then tossed a glance behind her.

"You boys going to get to work or just sit here?" Furia asked with a little smirk back at the mastermind of this little party.

"C'mon Mikey," Paulie said as he stared at their getaway driver.

 

**-2-**

_I must have been out of my mind wanting her on this gig. Maybe Dex is right. Furia's trouble; she's got too much to prove. Too much ego._ Paulie leaned in the doorway shaking his head as he looked over at the car. _Look at her_. Feet propped on the dashboard, leaned back in the driver's seat like nothing was fucking happening. _Troy must be out of his goddamn mind to have suggested her for this. She is going to get us all pinched, or worse, killed._

"Got it," Mikey said quietly.

"Make sure you get everything," Paulie reminded quickly.

"Do I look like I've never done this before. Jesus, Paulie. Ease back. Fuck."

His nerves were wound tight. _Tonight has to go just right. No screw-ups._ The canvas of the bag rubbed against the linoleum creating a scuffing sound that seemed to further grate Paulie's nerves and he tossed the bag out the door. Memo's footsteps resounded off the brick, as did the taps on the truck lid. By the time he and Mikey got out, the brother and sister were standing on either side of the trunk.

"Memo, grab the door," Mikey called as he dropped a heavy box into the Stiletto and pushed it to the back of the trunk.

Furia slipped into the driver's seat and Mikey hopped into the spot behind her. Paulie would have preferred a seat in the front but when you decide to being a strong arm the size of Guillermo Guerrero you have to give up certain creature comforts, because there was no way he was going to be able to fold his massive 6'4" frame into the backseat of any convertible, even the rather roomy Stiletto's.

Paulie's heart sped up as their driver seemed to see no real need to put distance between them and the first place they hit. She steered them slowly toward the second mark. Every stoplight Furia hit seemed to put Paulie more on edge.

_Calm down. She's got to be doing it just to rile you._

He looked around the car. _They all seem so relaxed. Talking and joking like we're on some damn joyride. What the hell is wrong with these people?_

At the next light he shifted slightly, rubbing his hand across his mouth as his knee bounced.

"Relax, guey," Furia said with a laugh.

"Relax? Do you have any idea what we're doing out here tonight?" Paulie said, grabbing the seat in front of him.

"You know. I'm really not sure. Are you Memo? Mikey? We're just cruising right? Because looking like we just ripped off some joint and driving through the streets like a bat out of hell for no reason that would not look suspicious at all. That would not draw one shred of attention, now, would it?" she asked, glaring back at him.

"Dios, Paulie," she sighed as the light turned green and some idiot behind them laid on the horn.

"Yeah, chill, man," Mikey muttered as his hand caught Paulie's before it could pull the pistol.

Looking up into the steel blue eyes of this punk kid, Paulie realized he might have been wound a little too tight. If Mikey had not grabbed him, there would be need for the reckless driving he had heard tale of from some of the crew. But not because Furia screwed up--it would have been all on him.

_Get a grip Paulie. Seriously man. You're losing it._

 

**-3-**

“Where the hell is your sister at?” Paulie growled as he paced and puffed angrily on his third cigarette in less than ten minutes.

Memo shook his head in exasperation. “How this works is they seed a car in the area. Not right fucking next door. She has to ditch A then pick up B. Chill the fuck out. She’s not going to flake on us,” the large man assured.

He could not help but feel a little insulted at the insinuation that Paulie was making about his sister. Guerrero was willing to let it slide and chalk it up to nerves. This was the first time any of the big guys had given Paulie the nod for anything and he really wanted this little excursion to come off without a hitch.

With the rumble that echoed off the brick, Memo's frown turned upside down. _Whatever Monica was, she sounded amazing,_ he thought as closed his eyes for a short moment to appreciate the almost visceral sensation of hearing that car's approach.  There was something about the way his sister ran through the gears of the monster Javier picked up for them; the power under that hood was unmistakable. It almost made him want the Rollerz to put up a fight just to see what this beast could do.

The big Cavallaro's engine seemed to shake the entire alleyway when it fell into idle. Mikey's loud long whistle told Memo that she must look at least as good as she sounded. He took a deep breath and turned. It might have been lust at first sound, but the paint job made him cringe. Her body was beautiful, supple curves and a sexy rear spoiler, with a glance at the tires as he moved to the passenger side door he knew they were racing wheels.

"Why the hell would anyone do something like that to a lady this fine?" he asked his sister when he closed the door.

"I don't know. I'm highly tempted to correct the situation before I give it back, though," she said with a warm smile in her voice.

"Why the hell did you need this car anyway?" Paulie asked, a little bit of sulk still tempering his tone.

"Because a ricer is not going to have the power to carry us and whatever you're hauling out of those shops while being able to outrun… well, anything. So we needed something with a little more oomph," Furia lectured, ending the conversation with a loud rev of the engine that made the younger brother jealous that his sister had the pleasure of driving her.

The way the vibration moved up his spine made Memo shiver. He settled back into the seat and let the rumble wash through him. At the stop light, he noticed his sister's hands moving slowly back and forth along the curve of the steering wheel. He did not even try not to laugh with the realization that there must be something in the Guerrero blood. They all had a thing for cars, especially fast cars with engines that just sang.

"What?" she asked, looking over at Memo like he had lost his mind.

"Nothing," he said with a big grin.

Her smile told him she did not believe him. Though he was fairly certain she would figure it out on her own anyway.

"After we hit the first shop, keep the windows up please boys. Just in case," Furia noted as they turned onto the freeway on ramp.

"This first stop is just a quick shopping trip, some things Dex needs and this place just got a nice selection in stock. It shouldn't make too many waves. But then we're going to Ricardo's Race World," Paulie explained.

"That's where we'll make friends, if we're going to," Mikey noted. "They close kind of late, so there could still be some guys in the parking lot."

"Seriously, Mikey? You couldn't tell me about this before now? We can't roll up on that place with this engine roaring, if the Rollerz are just playing in the parking lot," Furia groused. As she pulled up to the backdoor of Tony's Toolkit, her fingertips started tapping on the steering wheel.

 

**-4-**

The car emptied quickly and Mikey went to work on the alarm systems, while Memo and Paulie kept an eye on things. Furia smacked the steering wheel once then looked around for a moment. She slipped out of her seat and jogged across the parking lot.

"Memo, I'm going to take care of a little something for the next stop. Keep an eye on Monica," she said, slapping the keys into his hand. "I'll be back before you guys get done here."

"Where the hell are you going?" Paulie hissed through clinched teeth.

"To fix a problem," the driver replied as she hurried across the open space behind the shop. Using some boxes she climbed onto a dumpster and over the concrete retaining wall. Thankfully there was a vacant lot behind the place, the grass cushioned her jump.

"Can't believe no one said anything. How could these fools forget to suggest there would be a parking lot full of tuners waiting for us," she ranted quietly as she tried not to look entirely suspicious, though she knew that was going to be easier said than done--wearing all black, gloves, and carrying a small black case.

_No_ , she thought, _not a goddamn thing suspicious about you at all._

This was the worst neighborhood to try and boost from. _Everybody and their brother has car alarms. Plus, it's still early enough for all the kiddies to be awake and aware._ When she reached the street she looked both ways.

"What I wouldn't give for a damned apartment complex."

Parked on the street were a sweet Cosmos with the telltale blue flash lighting up the driver's side, a supped up Jackrabbit, and an old beat up Hannibal. "That's the one," she muttered at the beater. It was even parked away from the street lamps. "It's almost like they want someone to steal you."

She tried the door first, but sadly it was not destined to be that easy. The buffed metal did not catch the light, but that was kind of the whole point. Furia tried to make it seem like she was merely having trouble with a key as she searched for the sweet spot.

"Come on, sweetheart. Let me in," she whispered. But the Hannibal fought her. Of course, Furia usually won when it came down to it, and she did this time too. The ignition turned over easier than the door lock. 

When she returned to the shop, Mikey was closing the door.

"What's this?" Paulie asked when Furia stepped out of the car.

"Your ride," she said quickly.

Memo handed over the key to the other vehicle reluctantly. She still was not sure how Javier managed that trick, but she was definitely going to have to ask about it when this was all said and done. If she had to hazard a guess, it was probably because one or two of the girls distracted the mark.

"What are you talking about?" Paulie growled.

"Memo's going to drive you to the next spot. I'll follow."

"Are you kidding me?"

"If there's anyone in the parking lot, they are going to hear this engine. But they are not going to hear this little beater, even if they do they will ignore it."

Paulie looked exasperated.

"You want this to go off without a hitch? Then get in the damned station wagon. Memo, call me and let me know what kind of audience we've got."

The three men climbed into the still running family car and sped off. Furia hopped in the Cavallaro and followed part of the way, then she took a winding route that would bring her up on the tuner shop from the back. As it turned out, Ricardo's parking lot was a veritable block party. It was almost too ridiculous.

She knew Memo was on watch looking out for her arrival. She had warned him that he would not hear that sweet engine when she approached this time. There was no way that was going to happen with what was sitting out front of that store. Her brother grinned at her playfully, merely watching as she hopped in the driver's seat and slowed the car to a stop then set the emergency brake.

"How far did you push that thing?" he asked with a quiet laugh.

"Cierra la boca, hermanito," Furia said out of breath.

Memo laughed. "Hell of a plan, Tati," he said lowly as he crossed to the car. He certainly did not want Paulie to hear that sentiment. "Are we going to have to push it back out?"

"It would be the smartest choice." She lifted the trunk lid and leaned against the quarter panel.

"Maybe so but I don't know that Paulie will go for it."

She shrugged, making a little face.

"Go, go, go!" someone yelled.

"Guess we're not going that route," she said dashing around the car.

 

**-5-**

Memo caught the bag Paulie tossed at him as he and Mikey rushed out of the building. Then he slammed the trunk closed and as they all climbed into the car. The big engine revved in the deep registers like really good bass, which was soon contrasted by the higher pitch whine of several foreign engines. He expected his sister to head the way she was faced, but the car took off in reverse the way she had come from.

Despite his faith in his sister behind the wheel seeing the wall of headlights moving toward them from front was unnerving. When she whipped the car through the little entrance she had used earlier, the two men in the backseat cursed and complained loudly.

"Seat belts," Furia said in reply as the tires fought for a good grip on the pavement smoking slightly.

The sound of two quick clicks resounded through the car as the heavy backend fishtailed on right turn that put them onto a back street.

"Damn girl. Your ass is heavier than I thought," the driver intoned, speaking to the car. Her words were punctuated by the coordinated movements of her hands and feet as she shifted the standard through the lower gears.

The first few gunshots made them all duck just before the car took another turn.

"What set these fools off?" his sister asked as she fought to recover from the turn.

"Umm," Paulie wavered for a minute.

"Turns out the place wasn't quite closed," Mikey announced for the mastermind.

"Are you serious?" Memo asked, his hand bracing against the roof as Furia hopped a curb and cut through a park, dodging swing sets and the jungle gym.

"Someone must have worked there. A few of them came through to the bathrooms. When we heard voices, we called it."

Furia just chuckled. Memo shook his head. At least he was getting his wish, though he really would have preferred not to experience a car chase through the suburbs in Pedro Vu's Cavallaro with a bunch of supped up foreign jobs filled with drug-addled teenagers with an overwhelming need to prove something. These kids raced for cash, slips, respect. They had no idea what real driving was.  They just liked the notoriety and attention--positive and negative.

"Come on, they are gaining on us," Paulie crooned from the backseat, as Furia braked into another turn.

This one was much better than the first several, she was finding the way to deal with the extra weight that had her complaining earlier. Riding with his sister could be akin to a religious experience for Memo, not only because he spent half of it praying for survival, but also because behind the wheel she seemed like a woman possessed by some spirit born of Detroit. She just knew how to make a car do exactly what she wanted and needed it to do. The way she felt out a vehicle was like some sixth sense or psychic connection between her and the car. It was inspiring to witness, or at least Memo always thought so.

Once they got up the ramp and the freeway opened up before them Furia clutched through the gears of the specialty transmission with care and speed. With a glance back, Mikey had himself braced against the edges of the driver's seat, which suggested he had ridden with Furia before and been lectured about putting his knees in the spine of the driver. Turning his attention to the road, the big black monster wove in and out of the sparse traffic, but there were enough other cars on the road to give the Rollerz a bit of an obstacle as well.

"Oh, hell," Furia said.

Memo glanced to his left in time to see her eyes flick toward the rear view mirror again. As he turned back to check their rear, the Cavallaro slid left into the opposing lane of traffic to a loud angry honk from a European sedan, which Furia cut off. When the driver slammed on the brakes the cause for the driver's curse and reaction slammed into the back of the thick-framed vehicle she had just cut off.

"Oh shit," Mikey crooned.

"Does it look like anyone was hurt?"

"Only the guy in the rice," Memo assessed. The little white Zomkah with the gold accents had twisted like crumpled up piece of paper.

Paulie was less considerate of the person in the front seat as he silently pressed both his knees into Memo's back. The mastermind's mouth hung slack as he stared out the front windshield at the oncoming headlights that screamed past their windows to an orchestra of honks and the occasional clash of twisting metal. Furia shook her head and cut back to the right side of the highway at the next opportunity.

Memo could not help but laugh at the little muttered diatribe about stupid drivers and tuners who did could not handle their own machines. The guys in the back had no idea what she was saying as the ramblings were entirely in Spanish. It was something she had done since they were children. Around people she knew did not speak Spanish, she would correct her siblings, or speak her true mind in that language while maintaining a polite façade in English. That trait she shared with and likely learned from their Abuelita.

She veered off the highway and the big engine screamed into the Barrio.

"Are you sure about this?" Memo asked. In this neighborhood, Monica would be recognized.

"Just don't hang your head out the window and it should be fine. The LC will know the car and when they see that sea of blue. The situation might just handle itself," she said, slowing down a little on the surface streets.

 

**-6-**

Paulie fell into the chair on the other side of the desk from Troy then leaned forward and held his face in both his hands for a long moment before looking up at the gang's second. The look on Paulie's face said it all. Furia had done the trick, but she must have made the younger man sweat it.

"That well, huh?" Bradshaw asked finally, tapping the filter of the cigarette twice on the face of his watch before twirling it and setting it between his lips.

As the flame licked at the tip, Paulie looked up at him. "You were right. She's fucking good. But damn if she doesn't push."

"She pushes as hard as anybody else."

"I don't know."

"What's the problem? That she made it work? That she contributed? Or that she's a she?"

Paulie's eyes widened and he looked scandalized. "Hey, I have no issue working with girls."

"Woman," Troy corrected.

He knew there was a stark difference. There were _girls_ in the gang, those were usually the ones that weren't canonized but linked up with this or that or several of the guys in the crew. They contributed marginally for the protection and consideration they received by association. Then there were the females who actually were Saints. Those ladies were not girls; they fought their way in and they worked hard for their place, just as hard as the rest of the guys even if no one seemed to take as much notice.

"What?"

Troy waved it off. It was not worth trying to explain his opinion. In part he assumed most of the guys' issues with Furia stemmed from the fact that she was a looker and that she managed to be better than them.

"So anything interesting happen?"

"Turns out the Rollerz are more involved with Ricardo's than we thought," Paulie said, explaining about the surprise intrusion while they were hitting that spot. "But we managed to get what we were there for and a little more. Looks like a lot of cash is rolling through that place."

"Really?" Troy replied, standing and rounding the desk. "How do you figure?"

Paulie reached down and scrounged something out of his backpack. "Accidentally wound up with this in the rush."

Taking the proffered book, the undercover cop laid it on the desk, opening it and examining the sea of numbers. "What is it?" he finally asked.

"A ledger."

The older man eyed the younger. _That much I knew already, genius_. "You don't say. What's it tracking?"

"Furia said it looks like they're fronting for the Rollerz. You know cleaning their cash?"

"Not very smart, Ricardo," Troy told the ledger as he turned the pages.

He remembered her saying she worked with numbers at some point, so he was willing to trust her initial assessment. This could be something that could get some reaction out of downtown. It might also get them to stop bitching for about five minutes, he hoped.

"Everything else go okay?"

The silence made Bradshaw turn his attention to the man shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He cocked an eyebrow at Paulie when the kid finally looked up at him.

"Kind of."

Closing the book, the crew leader leaned against the desk. "How so?"

"She might have started a little bit of a scuffle between the Los Carnales and the Rollerz."

_This ought to be good_. "How did she manage that?"

"I didn't realize whose car it was at the time. But she had some of the guys boost Pedro Vu's baby."

Troy choked violently on smoke, coughing a few times before he regained control of his breathing. "She what?"

"Yeah. It was a good call because of the clusterfuck at the race shop. But if either side figures out it was us. That could be kind of a bad thing," Paulie said a little sheepishly.

"Kind of? Gee, you think?"

_Fucking hell. What are you thinking, Furia?_ Pedro Vu was not just a racer; he was Antonio's right hand. Those two idiots were thick as thieves, so close that the joke on the force was that when Antonio Lopez went to the John, Pedro was always there to hold it for him. _This is not good. The blowback from this could be hell._

"Who else knows?" Troy asked quickly.

"Memo and Mikey. And Javier. That's who she called. Oh, and whoever Javier used to get Pedro's keys," Paulie said with a shrug.

"She had them steal his keys?" _This just keeps getting better_. He could now better understand Paulie's initial reaction when he entered the room. Just hearing about it made Troy's head throb.

"I heard the call, she never asked for that. She just wanted his car, even knew Vu calls it Monica. But yeah someone nicked the keys. Which was really convenient in the long run."

Paulie's tone was casual, almost too much so in the older man's opinion. He had been a little nervous, but whatever happened Furia had managed to handle it. Troy could not help but wonder what precisely had the young banger on edge when he walked in; at first it seemed like it was her, but now Bradshaw wondered if Paulie had not been more concerned with how the Saints' lieutenant would respond to things.

"Tell me you destroyed the damn thing."

"Nah." The short dark-haired man shook his head slowly. "We doubled back by Ricardo's before the last hit. It was completely empty. So we tucked it into on the bay's there and tarped it."

Troy choked on smoke again, but only because the plan was surprisingly sound.

"That way it would look like one of the kids from the night before might have hidden it away there. She figured that would make it that much harder for them to explain it away as a set-up. Figured it might also cover our tracks with the robbery, too."

"Christ. That takes some stones." Bradshaw shook his head for a moment. It was risky as hell, but there was no way anyone would think to peg it on the Saints now. _Unless--._ "Doesn't Ricardo's have a ton of camera security."

"Not right now. Mikey put it all to sleep when we went in. Checked it again before we hid our Easter egg," Paulie explained. "She thought of damn near everything." The kid fidgeted again and looked up at his crew leader. "Makes me wonder why you asked me to put this together instead of her."

"She's still new blood, Paulie. Besides I knew you could do it."

"I don't know. I did not think to seed cars near the fence, and I never would have had the guts to steal Vu's ride. Let alone think to pin it on the Rollerz." He leaned back in the chair and ruffled a hand through his hair. "Truth be told, if not for her you'd probably be scraping me, Mikey, and Memo off the damn freeway."

"Then it’s a good thing you were smart enough to tell Mikey to get her."

Bradshaw knew the uncertainty. Paulie had a solid plan going in; he also chose a solid crew, but even that is never a guarantee. He did get lucky that after everything that had happened in the last thirty or so hours that Furia even agreed. Though Troy knew there were a few reasons she might agree to it, namely Mikey, who she seemed to be close to, and her brother.

"I don't know."

Troy stood. "It worked. That's what counts."

Paulie pushed to his feet and grabbed the bag beside him. "Yeah, I guess. So do you want this? Or should I give it to Dex?"

"Take it to Dex. I'm going to keep this book for a bit. Want to see if I can get anything out of it," Troy advised.

"Sure thing, chief."

"Hey Paulie!" Bradshaw called as he reached the door. "Good work. Go get some rest, you earned it."

"Thanks. I will."

Lighting another cigarette, the Saints second sat behind his desk again. He and Julius had claimed the two actual desks left in the building, though admittedly one corner of Troy's was held up by cinder blocks. Even so, it was a damn sight better than the plywood monstrosity Johnny concocted with some construction sawhorses. Dex fared a little better claiming the battered old file cabinets and creating a massive space that allowed him to spread out all his maps and blueprints and whatever the hell else he had tucked away in the crates and cabinets that filled the nook Jackson claimed as his own.

Troy really was not sure how to read what he was looking at. He could see the in and out of it, the movement of funds, but the reconciliation did not seem that clear. Dex could probably see it easier than the undercover cop could, and Paulie had told him that Furia pegged it rather quickly.

Running his hand over his forehead he tried not to think to hard about that last part. Every time he turned around there was something else pushing him at her. He stuffed the ledger in a drawer and tried not to think about it for a moment--more specifically, he tried not to think about her. But nothing seemed to be able to chase away the idea of calling her, of hearing her voice.

_It's a perfectly valid reason. She's got a background in this kind of thing._ He stubbed out his cigarette and pushed himself to his feet, which quickly set to pacing. _And you know her background has next to nothing to do with it. You already got the rundown from Paulie. Dex has the money. The plan went off and was even more lucrative than you could have hoped. This is just foolish. Juvenile indulgent crap,_ his inner cop voice tried to convince him not to call her, not to ask her to go through the ledger with him, not to make up a logically valid excuse to be around her.

Troy was beginning to wonder what the hell was happening to him. His anger at the station house was founded by misdirected. His loyalty seemed to be less certain than it used to be. And his fascination with this one woman was bordering on unhealthy obsession. And as much as he wanted to, he could not do anything about it; not only because it was specifically forbidden by department regulations, which barely factored into his consideration. He did not want to hurt her; and he could not see a way not to do that given the complexity of the situation. Everything about him except his name was a fabrication, a lie.

He kicked the corner of the desk and stared out the colorful stained glass window brightened by the rising sun. Bradshaw knew he needed to try and find a way to get around this, but nothing had yet come to mind. He pulled open the drawer and grabbed the ledger before leaving the church. Copies were going to need to be made. Part of him hoped that concentrating on investigative procedure might keep his head in the right place, but he did not have high hopes for his concentration.


	12. Disillusioned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A forced early morning face-to-face has Troy on edge. A pre-clubbing dinner with Ginger brings one of Furia's skeletons to the forefront.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again Chy!!!

**12 Disillusioned**

**-1-**

There was one saving grace about the hole in the wall in the factory district, besides the high booths and the lack of windows; the coffee was amazing. The fact that the clientele mainly included truckers meant that most of these people Bradshaw would never lay eyes on again, and it was likely they would not remember him or his face in return. That arrangement was fine with him.

Truthfully, he would have preferred to have placed the copied pages he had made from the register and his regular report in one of the dead drops, but Alan had insisted on a face-to-face. Troy was fairly certain he knew why.

Despite how warm it was in the restaurant the undercover cop pulled the heavy black coat tight around him, letting his chin sink below the collar as he sipped at the black coffee in his mug.

Between sips his fingers drummed against the table as the other hand moved the cigarette to and from his lips. Stubbing it out, Troy uncovered his watch. _Late. Son of a bitch cannot even manage to be on time._

“Heya, Sweetie. What can I get cha?” the waitress asked brightly, chewing at her gum in a most overwrought manner.

“Just the special,” he said, crushing the empty pack of smokes he dug out of his pocket in his fist.

“How d’ya want those eggs?”

“Sunnyside up.”

“Hash browns or grits?”

“Hash browns will be fine. Bacon not sausage, and white toast,” Troy replied quickly, answering the rest of her questions before she could ask them. He felt a little bad about the sharp nature of the tone he wound up using with her, but the waiting, among other things, had him a little on edge.

Almost nothing remained within the parameters his position had started with. _So much for that commendation in his file calling him, “the best young officer on the force,”_ he thought recalling how he wound up in this spot.

Stilwater had lured him away from the Peachtree City Police Department specifically for this operation. They needed someone young who was quick on their feet, and who had some experience with gangs. Most of all they wanted someone they felt could be incorruptible. Troy’s father was responsible for him having that reputation. Captain Nicholas Bradshaw had climbed to the head of Peachtree City’s Internal Affairs Division and the mayor credited him and his men with cleaning up the Peachtree City PD.

Stilwater’s Chief of Police worried about using one of their own for several reasons: namely the rampant corruption and familiarity, their pool of possible officers for undercover work was slim. SPD was like most departments there were infractions here and there, but for the most part people were stand up. Or at least that had been Troy’s experience in his short time on the force before he went undercover. Granted most of his time had been spent squirreled away in an interrogation room in the Detective's Bureau of the Vice Unit, being briefed then grilled over and over about the major players in Stilwater and the town itself.

Before being dropped off at the bus station at the edge of town all he had seen of Stilwater had been the airport and the downtown station house. But he spent nearly a month studying maps, territories, the big names in the game and their rap sheets, while also learning the names and faces of minor persons of note in each gang. He even studied up on his own fabricated record, memorizing the names of cons who had flipped and were going to vouch for him if he needed it. He learned about each of them as well as the new Troy Bradshaw.

Part of him could not help but wonder precisely what the hell he had been thinking. He should have known that when something seems too good to be true it usually is. Six months. That had been the long estimate before it started. The Chief and the Commissioner extended the estimate to just under a year within the first month. Even then it still seemed a fair trade for the detective shield and the promise of his bureau of choice. Troy had been a few years out of the police academy, which he entered straight after college. That was nearly three years ago.

Nearly thirty-six months and there was still no end in sight. They picked him because he was young and educated, being from a police family just sweetened the pot. These were all things that the brass said made him stand out. Alan had told him once that his father’s incorruptibility and the captain's stance on dirty cops was one of the reasons the SPD had recruited him so hard, and why they handed him his shield before it all started. Markovson revealed that they hoped all those things would serve him well in the den of vice that any gang in Stilwater would be, even startups like the Saints.

When he walked out onto the streets, Troy really believed it all. He still saw the world as black and white, good and evil. He still saw cops as saviors and criminals as a blight on the lives of honest citizens. He had been so idealistic, so eager to please. His reports used to be extremely thorough, almost too much so. In fact, at one point Markovson told him to hold back on the amount of excessive detail.

 _Some things are better left summarized, kid_ , Alan had told him at another very early breakfast in this exact same spot.

Troy ran his hand through his hair as he stared at the barest hint of a sheen on surface of his coffee. He was not sure when things changed. There was no one instant where he could pinpoint when the once clear line between Detective Bradshaw and Troy the Saint started to blur or when the black and white that had been so prominent in his mind at the beginning started to fade into a muddy and bloody shade of gray. Bradshaw just knew it had. He just knew it was not quite the us-versus-them that he had signed up for anymore.

Alan was still his friend; he was the only officer Troy really knew in the Stilwater PD. He was acquainted with others by name and reputation, and he had the ability to get a hold of the right people for the various situations he might come across. But if he were to weigh the people he trusted on the force against those he trusted in the Saints, the scales would tip heavily to a side the young officer never could have predicted when all this started.

“Hey I’m going to need two of those, and another cup of coffee. For my friend,” he called after the waitress when he noticed Markovson enter, shaking his trench coat.

“Sure thing, Sweetie.”

Troy ran his hand over his forehead as his partner approached the table. Alan hung his dripping coat from the peg on the side of the tall old time booth before he slid into the seat opposite the undercover cop.

“What’s the word?” Troy asked first.

“The brass thinks they might have things under control. I don’t think retaliation will be a worry. They explained the situation to the officers involved that there is an investigation into the whole affair and that any reprisals would be dealt with harshly.”

Bradshaw pursed his lips. He knew just about how far that could go. The threat of sanctions meant precisely dick. If someone wanted to pay her a visit they probably would not even get a slap on the wrists. It made the younger man cringe.

"What precisely did they tell these guys?"

"That we're trying to work her and the other girls as sources," Markovson admitted.

"And are you?" Troy asked his cup.

His partner shrugged. "In Furia's case, yes. I think it could be a possibility. But I need some leverage on her."

Troy nodded and hummed his understanding into his mug as the waitress arrived with another thick beige ceramic vessel and a fresh pot of coffee. She filled Alan's cup and topped off Troy's. Neither man spoke until she was well out of earshot.

"What do you know about her?"

"Not much," Troy replied to the question he did not want to be asked.

Even more so, it was an inquiry he did not want to answer, specifically because he had information that Alan would salivate over. Namely the information about her family, Alan could use and wield Memo, Miguel, or, God forbid, the younger ones he only knew by name to garner and cajole her participation. He should tell his partner everything he knew about the young woman. An undercover cop would want her to turn. Hell, part of him wanted her to roll, maybe the brass would get her and her family out of the city--with new names, new lives maybe things could have been more like she hinted at before things turned for her.

 _You can't think like that. You can't protect her. She's a criminal._ It was a true enough statement but at the same time it did not quite seem to fit her. Because she was not _only_ that.

"Anything's better than what I've got." Alan leaned back and dug his notebook out of his breast pocket. "Like, what the hell is her name?"

"I don't know. She introduced herself as Furia. And that's the only thing anyone calls her. Well, without receiving reprisal."

"Damn. I figured it was just some kind of tag the Saints gave her."

"Nope. She came in with it."

"You mentioned Julius is grooming her, why?" Alan asked, flipping through his notes, likely from the interview.

As much as Bradshaw wanted to know what happened between his partner and Furia in that interrogation room, any question on the matter, he feared, would be too obvious. "She's quick on her feet. Thorough and loyal. I think Little knows her, or rather knew her before she came in."

"What makes you say that?"

Troy shrugged. "He doesn't usually put the hard sell on females when he's recruiting but he did with her. And he knew her on sight, recognized her from the neighborhood, I thought. I didn't learn her name until after she was canonized. But he seemed to know her from the moment we happened across her."

"That was that little impromptu triple date you told me about a while back, yeah?"

"Yep," Troy offered with a nod as the waitress returned with two large plates.

"Anything else I can get you boys," the woman asked, looking pointedly at Troy.

"No, thank you," the auburn-haired man replied.

"Just let me know. Enjoy."

Once she was gone, Markovson laughed brightly. "Jesus, Casanova. I can't take you anywhere."

The younger of the two shook his head and reached for the salt and pepper.

"What kind of work has he got her doing?" Alan asked, breaking off a piece of toast and punching through the thin white sheath covering the still runny yolk of his eggs.

"Anything and everything. If someone needs a warm body, they are under orders to use her, if she's free," Troy explained. It was not quite that simple, but that was close enough to the gist of what Julius wanted.

Alan smirked, shaking his head and humming thrice in a manner that made the muscles in Troy's shoulders tighten. If he was reading his partner correctly, the two of them were edging toward a conversation Bradshaw did not want to have. Furia drew attention, a fact the undercover officer knew all too well; he also recalled a statement his partner had made following a racy comment about a young officer who was working the streets as part of Vice's rotating detail that targeted johns. The words seemed to echo through Troy's head: _I'm married, not dead_.

"What's her … umm … skill set?" The smirk twisted into a lecherous smile that Troy tried to ignore by focusing on his breakfast.

"Driving mostly."

"So she's good with cars?"

"Only behind the wheel," Bradshaw clarified. "She can drive them, but very little mechanical skill. She's a mediocre shot. Pretty handy in a brawl though. And like I said loyal, almost to a fault, and quick on her feet."

"So you don't think she'll turn?" Markovson asked, dabbing at his mouth with the paper napkin before draping it back in his lap.

 _Highly unlikely._ The thought was punctuated by another shrug on Troy's part. "Your guess is as good as mine. I don't know enough about her to make that call. Maybe if the gain was worth it, but I really could not say for sure."

"Damn," Alan said into his mug. "I was really hoping they might not have gotten their hooks that deep yet. She's got no rap sheet other than the one she picked up three nights ago. I mean nothing. Her prints are pristine. Even ran her against unknowns found at other crime scenes, and there was nothing."

"Like I said she's smart."

Alan snorted with slight amusement. "Compared to most of that group, she must be a fucking genius."

Troy bit at his bacon without a word. There was nothing to say, not one word he could say that would not reveal his shifting sympathies. Part of him knew he should pull out of this assignment. The best thing for him and this investigation at that point would be to back out. No matter how close they were, no matter how deep he was, no matter whether they could get someone else in place or not. The only way for this thing not to go completely sideways on him was to get out.

But he could not bring himself to do it. He could not just leave either side to the wolves so to speak. Some of the information he brought in, the Saints would not have had access to, save for the official department resources he called in on rare occasions. It was yet another reminder of just how deep he had let himself sink into the mire of this endeavor. In a lot of ways he was protecting the Saints more than he knew he should, but the knowledge did not keep him from doing it.

He needed to get out of that place--more specifically Troy needed to get out of that booth and distance himself from Markovson. The little voice in Bradshaw's head was almost as loud and deriding then as it was when he was around Furia, or when he took just a little too much pleasure in hanging out with Johnny. His hand dipped into the breast pocket of the coat he was still wearing.

"I have something for the accountants," the undercover officer noted as he slid the envelope over. "That's only part of it. I dead dropped the rest this morning at the bus depot. Too big to carry around."

"I take it you have the original?"

"Of course, problem is that I can't just turn something like this over to you. People know about it."

"You mean Dex?"

"Among others," Troy confirmed with a nod. "It looks like the Rollerz have a sweet thing going with Ricardo over near the arena."

"And we only know this because the Saints hit it in an effort to try to snatch up the protection money," Alan said with shake of his head.

Troy finished off his coffee. "It is what it is," he said as she slid out of the booth. "I'll call you once I know what they are doing with the book."

"Hey! Try to find me something I can use on that girl."

The effort not to respond to that statement made Bradshaw's head throb. "I'll see what I can manage."

 

**-2-**

Hot water and over the counter pain relievers. Those combined with a shocking number of half decent movies mostly served to keep Furia distracted while the bruises went from loser of a prize fight to fool who really should keep her big mouth shut. Or so she surmised as she leaned over the sink and examined her face. The cut on her cheek was healing nicely; the massive bruise below it was a strikingly disgusting mix of purples and blues dolloped with heavy helpings of yellowing that blended into the black eye she got a few nights earlier.

The best part was that the bruises on her legs were mostly gone. Though the handprint on her arm from where Quequito had grabbed her that night was still more vibrant than she would have liked. Her first thought on noticing its striking amount of detail was just a thankful little nod to the cooling weather, which meant she could pull off a long sleeve t-shirt without looking like she was trying to hide something. It did not really matter if that was exactly what she was trying to do.

Of course, truth be told, she never expected Cyndi Lauper could cause that kind of response in someone, though she knew the quartet's horrible rendition of _Girls Just Want to Have Fun_ was not the only factor that brought that officer's attention down on them. She winced at the thought and the soreness still in her cheek.

Since Heist Night she had kind of been playing at being a recluse. Though the plan had not gone all that well. Getting home just before dawn, Furia turned off her phone showered and collapsed. When she woke up just after noon, she ordered noodles and dumplings from Wang's Dynasty, vegging out on the couch and finally turning her phone back on.

Johnny called almost immediately. She found out after the fact it that he had been calling her off and on all day because he needed a personal favor. She guessed it for busy work, but then she preferred to be busy than to not. So she agreed to it.

However, if she had known he was playing her, she might have declined. What she thought was going to be a protection detail or something else along those lines turned out to be a whole other animal. Aisha wanted to offer more than a verbal thanks for Furia's intervention on behalf of her baby sister.

As Furia slipped her feet into the new knee-high black boots, she allowed herself to admit that she had enjoyed it. Shopping was usually a chore for her, filling out a list of who needed what at that precise moment in time. The previous afternoon with Aisha was a whole different animal. In part it was due to her stylist Nico, who was almost a cliché--tall, beautiful, and gay with a fashion sense that people would kill for, or pay for, in this case. Aisha had known him since they were kids.

Except for the black eye, the one of the four new _ensembles_ (as Nico termed them after correcting Furia's misclassification of them as outfits) she had chosen really did look good, even if it was miles away from her usual jeans and tees. Though looking at it in the mirror at home, the skirt seemed so much shorter than when she had tried it on the day before. Of course, the difference might have been the fact that her cohorts were egging her on and encouraging her to pick out something she would never buy for herself.

Admittedly, she loved the boots, despite the taller than usual heel, and they really did work with the pleated black and purple plaid skirt, which had been Aisha's idea. Paired with a white cowl neck sweater, she really kind of did feel a little different. When the grating sound of the buzzer overpowered the radio, she checked the clock in the bedroom.

"¡Ave Maria! The one time she would be early," Furia said to her phone as she looked down at herself trying to decide where she was going to put it. "¡Mierda!"

Slipping the phone into her bra, she glanced at herself in the mirror again. _At least it's not completely obvious. Not until your breast starts singing,_ she thought as she crossed to the intercom.

"I'll be down in a sec."

"No worries, Sweetie," Ginger replied.

Within a handful of minutes, she met her friend on the front stoop of her building. While she was expecting some kind of response, the long whistle accompanied by a drawn out, "Damn, girl," was not choice among them.

"What?" Ginger asked with a wide shrug when Furia cast a glance over her shoulder. "You look good. That is so much better than those shapeless jeans you usually wear."

"Yeah, well. It's fine for dinner, dancing, and gossiping," she said as she again found herself wishing for a pocket. Cute as it maybe, it was becoming increasingly unlikely that she would ever wear this skirt again. Or maybe she would just have to wear a jacket next time.

"Here. Give them to me," Ginger ordered, holding out her hand.

Giving her friend the once over, Furia realized neither of them had big plans for the night. The red leather pants her friend wore only came out when clubbing was involved. The outline of the tall redhead's phone strained at the tight leather and a similar border could be seen around Furia's keys. The silvery lame top shone in the last remaining rays of sunlight and looked amazing against Jackson's dark skin.

"I did not realize you were going with the red leather. I'm going to have to find my own ride home tonight, aren't I?"

"No. I would never abandon my girl."

"Yeah, right," Furia quipped with a big grin as she slid into the passenger seat.

"Hey now! Just because I want them to drool, does not mean I'm planning on taking one home."

"Mmhmm."

"Girl, what about you? All that leg and flashing some cleavage. Don't talk to me about a pair of pants I had to paint on. Shoot," Ginger quipped as she pulled away from the curb. "You look like you're on the damn hunt yourself."

"No! Decidedly not." The adamancy in Furia's voice was too telling, she knew; and she wondered if Ginger caught it. When the big brown eyes turned to her, Furia was certain she had.

"Mmhmm, indeed. Come on. Spill."

"I am not on the prowl. Now stop."

"You are the worst liar I know."

"That's because you spend too much time with con artists and strippers."

"True," Ginger agreed. "But you are holding back."

Furia rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I splurged yesterday. Someone wanted to thank me for helping their sister. I just figured this would be the only time I'd get to wear something like this and it not stand out like a sore thumb."

"Hell, then you should change your wardrobe. Because I never understood why, with legs like that, you would always hide them in those baggy jeans. Didn't your momma ever tell you, if you got it flaunt it?"

They both looked at one another and Furia could see the realization dart across her friend's face.

"I'm sorry, Sweetie."

Furia smiled. "It's fine. But no. That does not sound like anything my mother would have ever told me. Or my grandmother either, before you ask."

Ginger chuckled, there was a trace of unease in the sound that Furia chalked up to the slip. She dealt with her mother's death years ago, it was not something that really influenced her beyond making her cling tighter to the people in her life--her friends, her siblings, and she was finding the same thing already happening with some of the Saints. It made her more aware of precisely how easy it was to lose people, and that she should show the people in her life just how much they meant to her.

 

**-3-**

Dinner at Poppy's was their ritual. Whenever Ginger and Furia went out, they stopped at the little nostalgic diner for a bite and copious amounts of gossip. Though this time around, most of the gossip had to be delivered by the nearly six-foot redhead due to their change in circles. Halfway through their meal, she noticed her friend's hazel eyes track someone who had just walked it. There was an intensity in Furia's gaze that Ginger could not quite place. But her curiosity got the better of her. When she glanced over her shoulder, she recognized the man, but she could not recall his name.

"Hey, isn't that the guy that bailed us out?" she asked, turning back toward Furia.

The little flash of surprise in her friend's look did not go unnoticed. "Yep," the ebony-tressed woman replied in a clipped tone.

Ginger looked back over her shoulder, when she did the man's head turned back to the waitress standing behind the counter. _Christ, this is like high school all over again_.

"What is his name again?"

"Troy Bradshaw," Furia answered quietly, desperately trying not to look away from the table as her eyes fixated the glass of water. She kept a careful gaze on the glass as she stirred and stabbed at the lemon in the liquid with her straw.

"He's kind of a looker. I mean he's not my type. I like a little more chocolate in my milk. But he'd do in a pinch," Ginger said, after turning back to the table again.

Her friend blinked slowly. Ginger knew the tactic. Furia was trying to find the response that would not give anything away. She did it all the time, but not only when it came to men.

"Just ask him out," the redhead finally said when the silence stretched onward. She knew the signs well enough--the way she watched him before Ginger was aware he was there and the way she refused to even glance in that direction once his presence was acknowledged. Furia had been this way for as long as the two knew each other.

"Not a chance," Furia said almost too quickly.

"Why not? He's got a decent build to him. He's tall enough," Ginger offered, knowing Furia's severe detraction to men shorter than her. "From the little I talked to him the other day, he seems like a nice guy. And besides it's not like you're one of those girls who's afraid to taste the rainbow."

Furia's laughter and the accompanying smile were just what Jackson's last comment had been aiming for.

"It has nothing to do with any of that. I'm just trying to avoid being overlooked … like always."

"And how is a good looking piece of ass going to bury you?" Ginger asked a little more loudly than she should have, she realized when Furia's gaze shifted.

"Evening ladies," the man she had been ogling moments earlier greeted with a strained smile.

"Troy, you remember my friend Ginger," Furia offered in a voice that was calmer than the other woman expected.

"Yeah. Good to see you again."

"You too," Ginger said, feeling like an idiot. She really hoped he did not catch the whole context. Hell, the statement had been bad enough. If Furia did not want to say anything about it, Ginger certainly did not want to be the one that yanked that particular topic out of the closet and shoved it out in the open, especially in front of the very subject matter.

"Sorry to interrupt, but Javier's been trying to get in touch with you. He might have something right up your alley."

"Like?" Furia asked evenly, looking up at the man who seemed even taller with the two of them seated.

Troy shrugged noncommittally. "Someone needs a driver."

"That's all you know?" Furia's tone suggested she did not buy his professed lack of information.

"That's all he told me." His attention was pulled away when the waitress called his name above the din of conversations and silverware on ceramic. "Enjoy your dinner. And try to stay away from the Marina," Troy chided with a smile which made them both groan.

"Smart ass," Furia quipped with a coy smile of her own as he walked off.

That was when Ginger realized it. "Oh my God," she whispered, staring at Furia.

"What?" she replied, just as quietly.

"You are totally into him."

"Stop."

"You are!"

There was pleading in the wide-eyed look her friend cast across the table at her. "It doesn't matter."

Before Ginger could argue, Furia held up her hand in that gesture her friend knew too well. Jackson could choose to drop it, or risk her friend ending their night out then and there if she kept pushing. The bell on the door tinkled, and, turning, the redhead noticed the distraction had left with whatever he was picking up.

"Fine. I'll drop it."

"Good. Consider this a full force ban on _that_ topic." Furia's eyes darted to the door for a moment then back to her friend.

"A ban on Bradshaw, huh? That's almost too cute for words."

Furia tilted her head and glared at Ginger.

"What?" Ginger asked innocently.

"You are horrible."

"I know, but you love me."

"True," Furia agreed with a playful smile.

"Maybe we can find you a distraction tonight." Ginger waggled her eyebrows at her friend, who shook her head in response.

"I do not need a distraction. Thank you."

"Oh, I think you do. Otherwise that ban will last precisely five minutes," Ginger declared as she watched him climb into his car parked across the street.

"Give me a little credit."

"I am. I gave you five minutes, didn't I?"

Furia's draw dropped as she chuckled. "I take it back. I hate you."


	13. Steep Learning Curve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Furia gets an early wakeup call that has her taking on a new role. She and Mikey spend the morning tapping resources to locate some prime specimens from Miguel's shopping list. When they run into a little trouble, things take a strange turn in Chinatown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kisses to Chy for letting me flood her inbox.

**13 Steep Learning Curve**

**-1-**

The leisurely paced Latin rhythm broke the relative silence in the room while the vibration rumbled the cell phone right off the nightstand. Furia groaned and leaned over the edge of the bed after it clattered to the rug.

"¿Qué?" she groaned tiredly as she fell back against the pillows.

_"You're becoming quite the night owl I hear,"_ Miguel said way too cheerfully.

Another groan. She knew it was Miguel by the ringtone, but she was not expecting or wanting more people shoving their opinions about her life at her right that moment.

_"I get it. Marco's got some moves. Or so say half the girls on the Row."_

"It was dancing. Nothing more. I know he's a dog, and believe me I don't have time for fleas. Now why are you on my phone at--" she leaned and grabbed the alarm clock. "¡Valgáme dios, Miguel! I only got home a few hours ago. What they hell are you even doing up at the crack of dawn?"

_"Working, prima. Working like a dog. And I've got a few high end jobs that I need good hands on. They are probably going to all be alarmed and most of the boys still set those off every time. Plus, they are going to be a little harder to find than the ones you usually get me. But I think a trip to Wardill might nab us a few."_

"You're ruining my beauty sleep."

_"You're too pretty as it is. Makes my job so much harder as your overbearing and overprotective male family member. So get your skinny ass out of bed. I'll text you the list."_

"Fine," she said as she sat up and kicked off the blankets.

_"Hey! Can you do me a favor?"_

"Maybe."

He laughed lightly as she heard papers shuffling on the other end of the line. _"Take Mikey D with you. Memo says he's got good hands. If he can take down a security system, he might have some skill in this arena. Kind of show him the ropes and the tricks, you know?"_

"Sure. And I know what you're doing," she warned as she entered the bathroom. "If I weren't so tired, I'd probably kick your ass for it."

_"If I wanted you to take someone to watch your back, I'd have Memo on your doorstep,"_ Miguel reminded. _"I need them in all delivered in a few days. Good thing it's only like five."_

"Slave driver."

_"No. That's your gig, prima_."

"I'm hanging up now, Miguel."

The cold tiles chilled her feet instantly, and when she pulled off the oversized t-shirt she had worn to bed Furia shivered. The only redeeming thing about the fast cooling weather was that it had not snowed yet. She turned on the hot water and removed to the bedroom long enough to call Mikey and tell him she was going to teach him a new trade. He sounded way more excited than he should have been. Of course, she remembered being the same way when her uncle taught her how to hotwire cars, though he had not intended for her to use that information in the capacity she chose.

She was fairly certain that Antonio knew his niece boosted cars with his son's instigation and support. Her tio turned a blind eye, because he himself had been in that boat himself more than once--stripping cars for parts or filling highly specific orders for guys with shipping connections when things got a little tight. His current garage was completely legitimate, nothing hot passed through those doors. But Miguel's garage had belonged to their grandfather and that building had never in its life seen purely legitimate business. Furia and her cousin had a hand in keeping it that way.

Mikey had his own wheels, unlike the woman who was planning to teach him a few new tricks. She could not help but see the irony in the fact that a person who was as adept at stealing and driving cars as she was did not own one. Sure, she could hotwire half of Stilwater, but it was a little different when it was your own car. Now that she could afford one it almost seemed laughable that she either bummed rides or was beholden to the schedules and whims of the public transportation system, which in Stilwater was laughably pitiful.

She and her kit were sitting on the stoop when the orange Ant jumped the curb. Mikey unfolded himself out of the tiny car and leaned on the roof.

"You want to drive?" he asked with a big grin.

"That's your car?" she asked smiling back at the tall lanky him.

"Yeah. She was my dad's first car. Saved paper route money forever and a day and we fixed her up enough to drive. I've done a little more tweaking on her since then, obviously." His hand rubbed the surface of the roof gently.

_Oh yeah. This is totally his car. He's completely in love with it._ You could always tell the cars that were loved. This one probably also meant more to him because of the sentiment attached to it.

"Nah, you drive I have to make a few calls on the way." She stood and grabbed the small black bag that held her tools.

"What's that?"

"Something you're going to need to get your hands on," Furia said as she opened the door.

"Swing by Samson's garage," she instructed as she slipped into the passenger's seat. "I need to call one of the kids I know in the Barrio."

"You got it."

Mikey's skill behind the wheel was a little more along the lines of the Johnny's fast and a little reckless. But it only resulted in a few curb hops and two rubs with little old ladies who could not see over their steering wheels. Once they reached the garage, Furia tucked her tools under the seat and strolled into one of the open garage bays, as Mikey jogged across the parking lot to catch up with her.

"Mamacita," someone yelled.

Furia stopped cold and turned her head to the left, only her head. Samson got to her before she could decide which of the chuckling idiots had said it.

"Furia," the owner called, pulling her attention away from the mechanics. "How you been?"

"Good," she grumbled. "You?"

"What can I do for you and the cracker?" he asked with a little nod toward the wiry man that finally caught up to her.

"I need to … procure a set for the cracker here."

Samson laughed while Mikey stared at her with just a trace of a smile. They all knew it was all in good fun. The first time she met Samson he wavered between _beaner_ and _spick_ when he spoke to her. He did not bother to learn anyone's name, according to Lin, until he either considered them useful or they had been around the block a few times. Plus, Samson told her once if you can stand a little good natured ribbing it might serve one well in the future. She did not necessarily agree with his methods, but he had a stocked garage and he had offered her tools any time she needed them, completely off the books.

"I've probably got most of what you'll need here in the office." Samson swiped his hands on a red shop towel that had at least as much grease as there was towel left.

"Nothing fancy, yet. Just the basics. Oh, and if you have it, I might need Vinnie's number."

"Why the hell would you want to talk to that nutcase?"

Furia laughed, that was a sentiment she shared. "Don't _want_ to talk to him. But I might need him to bypass an Attrazione for me."

"You know it would be easier to jack one. A lot less headache, too," he said, flipping through the rolodex he kept on his desk.

"I know, but apparently the client it being uber specific about this one car," Furia explained, leaning on the desk.

"That sound like it might be a set up."

"My thoughts exactly, except that this list if for Miguel and all his clients are squared away."

Samson scratched his grubby hands through his beard. "Unless they're not. From what I hear Tortelli and the boys over in Auto Theft have been busy as a three-peckered dog."

"I hear you. I wouldn't put anything past SPD. And at the first sign of trouble I'm out."

"You better hope you see the sign before you've got cuffs on you."

Saving the number into her phone under _Italian_ , she handed the card back to the garage owner. "Believe me, I know. But I've managed to stay off their radar so far. Where's the tools?"

Samson thumbed toward the large red box on wheels at the back of the room.

"The personal stores, eh? ¡Caramba, Papí! You'll spoil the boy before I even teach him how to get in a car," Furia cooed, making Samson shake his head at her. She looked over her shoulder and winked at Mikey. "Go in the shop and see if you can find you a little bag about the size of the one I've got."

"What are you doing, Furia?" Samson asked when the younger Saint left.

"Miguel asked me to train him up. He's good with alarms and safes apparently. Looks like someone wants to know if he's good with cars." She picked through the screwdrivers carefully, looking for just the right ones.

"That's not what I'm talking about," the older man said, closing the office door. "They finally got a set of bracelets on you after what six years of boosting, and you're going to walk into something like that Attrazione? You never were that stupid girl."

"I'm still not," she agreed with a glance over her shoulder as she closed the first drawer and went to the next. "I'm going to put eyes on it. Put out a few decoys and see what if anything I can draw off it. I'm not boosting that car, if it even dreams of being a trap. It set Miguel on edge too. He's willing to tell a long time client to kick rocks over it."

"Well, he should. That kind of bullshit will get you real time, especially with a car like that."

"That is not in my playbook," Furia assured as she turned and laid her handful of booty on the table.

Samson looked over at her, still obviously unconvinced. "You're not invincible."

"No I'm not. But I am smarter than I look."

"Lucky for you," Samson replied with a tense little grin that told her the lecture was over.

"Well. Ya know. Sometimes I'm holding aces."

The shy knock at the door preempted any other conversation on the issue. Furia did not stifle the giggle that rose up when she saw the little purple bag in Mikey's hand.

"That's very cute," she said with a smile.

"I know. It matches my shoes," Mikey said with a huge grin crinkling the corners of his eyes.

Looking over the edge of the table, Furia fell into near hysterics. He was indeed wearing a pair of purple suede work boots that were almost the exact same shade of purple as the bag. She held out her hand for the bag and started to fill it, as she said, "Cute shoes, too."

"I can  show you wear I got them, we can be all matchy matchy," Mikey chided.

Samson laid his hand over the young man's shoulders while staring intently at the boy's feet. "You know what, son? I don't think I've ever seen anything quite so precious in my life. I do believe you might just be our very own Spice Girl."

Furia choked on her own laughter. Mikey was right there with the other two, grinning and laughing.

"Well I do try. And you never know I might just … _Spice up your life_ ," he crooned, falling into a pretty decent rendition of the chorus of the Spice Girls song of the same name.

"All right, Baby Spice," Furia said with as much seriousness as she could muster. "We need to get downtown. You can come back later with your g-string and make a few bucks."

"What makes you think I don't have it on now?" Mikey chided.

She set her hand on his back and pushed him toward the door. "More than I wanted to know, man. Seriously."

His laughter faded into the bay as she thanked Samson and handed him a stack of bills to cover the tools she found. He also handed her one she forgot. _He isn't going to get anywhere without a slim jim_ , she knew _._

"Hey! Put the keys away," she yelled across the parking lot just about the time Mikey reached for the door of the car.

"What?" he asked, turning toward her.

Furia was twirling a long thin piece of metal in her left hand as she walked to the brightly colored Ant. "First lesson," she said when she reached him.

He took the proffered item and stared at her for a moment. She set the little bag on the hood and stood next to him, watching his face as he stared at the door.

"So how do I do this?"

"Carefully," she replied. When he glanced back up at her she cocked an eyebrow at him and smiled. "Sadly for you, I'm completely serious. Sometimes even I still detach lock rods."

"Can't I just pick the lock?"

Tipping her head to the left, she shrugged her one shoulder slightly. "You can. And if you've got the time and space to do it, that's awesome. But if I was trying to steal this lovely little girl of yours, even if I was the best pick in the state, I could not pick this lock right here and now without someone seeing me, could I?"

"Guess not."

She held her hand out and he placed the rubber coated end in her hand. "But, if I'm careful and quick, I can do this," she announced, leaning against the car for a moment then opening the door as she pulled the thin piece of metal free of the door.

"Jesus, Furia."

 "I used to practice on the cars Miguel was stripping. It's not great for newer cars, but no one's going to ask you to lift Justice or any of the Italian jobs any time soon. So, this could be your friend at the right time and place. The rest of the time you can use that kit of yours," she said, tapping the rubber grip of the slim jim against the left side of his jacket. It made a hollow sound where it hit the lock picks he carried. "And for the record, you shouldn't carry those if you aren't working. Gives the berries probable cause."

"Yeah, but I was told we were stealing cars. Plus you carry your kit a lot," Mikey said, countering her warning.

"I also don't have a car. So nine times out of ten a screw driver and a pair of pliers are my key to getting around the city. Come on," she ordered, checking her watch. "Need to meet someone."

"We're not going to practice?" Mikey asked as she rounded the car.

"I'll take you to the junk yard later and we can see if we can't find a few doors for you to get the feel on. That way you don't break your own locking mechanisms."

"You were serious?" he asked as he started the car.

"Completely," she nodded as she stowed his new kit behind the driver's seat. "And same goes for this kit. A bag like that will make the cops curious. So--"

"I know the drill. It's the same reason my other kit gets unpacked whenever I get home."

"The pieces are innocent in and of themselves, mostly. Though there's not a whole lot of explanation for the slim jim."

"Yeah I bet," he noted as they crossed the bridge.

 

**-2-**

By the third stop, Mikey knew the deal. He sat in the car bobbing his head to Blur, while Furia walked over to a scrawny-looking man wearing a horrible blue short-sleeved dress shirt. The most astonishing thing about him was that he actually had a pocket protector. _I didn't think they made those anymore_ , he thought as his hands tapped out the beat on the steering wheel.

A little smile curved the lips of the driver. The guy's eyes kept darting around nervously; Mikey was not sure why until they turned toward the door. He laughed lightly when the geeky guy's eyes glued to Furia's hips. The two of them went into the coffee shop, which caused Mikey to let his gaze roam the street.

There were tons of people sitting the outdoor tables at a restaurant halfway up the block, enjoying the temperate afternoon. With the weather chilling, the hours of noon to two were just about perfect. Cool but not cold, and warm enough to want to be outside. Even Mikey had the windows down as he waited for his friend to return.

His eyes caught on a flash of strawberry blonde hair that made him do a double take. Sadly, or gladly, he was not really sure which, it was not the person he thought it could have been. But he did not really have time to dwell on it. Furia's laughter carried on the breeze and pulled his attention back up the street.

When she lightly kissed the guy on the cheek, he turned bright red. He looked like she just made his week. Hell, even Mikey had to appreciate her walk; there was a rhythm to it and a little shimmy, even from the front it was something to behold. He shook his head clear as she handed him a cup.

"Who is that guy?" he asked when she slid into the passenger seat.

"Keith. Old friend from high school. We went to prom together."

Mikey choked on the mouthful of coffee he had been in the process of swallowing. She slapped him on the back once. "You dated that guy?"

"No. I went to prom with him."

"Why?" he asked before he thought better of it.

"He's safe."

"You date safe guys?" The disbelief was thick in his voice.

Furia's attention was focused on the papers Keith had given her. "No. I date assholes, which is why I went to prom with the safe guy that somehow cranked up enough nerve to ask me." She sipped at her cup while Mikey tried to wrap his head around the weirdness of the statement. Her phone hummed in the console and she checked it then looked up at him. "If you're done with twenty questions, let's swing by little Shanghai."

"Yes, ma'am."

Furia shook her head. "Ever call me ma'am again and I'll cut you," she cautioned in a very calm tone that made him wonder if she was serious or if it was an idle threat.

When he thought about how much Johnny liked her, he figured there was a chance she was entirely serious.

Her little revelation about the safe guy made his mind wander as he drove. The music from MIXX filled the silence in the small car as the wind whipped around them. Before he joined the Saints Mikey suffered under the nice guy curse, like that guy who had blushed scarlet after a handful of minutes with Furia. It reminded Mikey of how he usually reacted when Peaches was around.

"Can I ask you something?"

Furia cast a wary glance at him.

"Totally not about your little geek."

"Sure, shoot," she said, as she turned her gaze back to the papers they had collected from three different people all over town.

"Umm … do you think … uh …"

When she looked back over at him, it felt like his tongue had swollen to three times its usual size. He rubbed at his neck when the smile started to creep across her face. The pleading look convinced him just to blurt it out.

"Peaches." It was all he could convince his mouth to say.

Setting her hands in her lap, her hazel eyes studied him for a moment. He started to tense up as Cyndi Lauper started singing.

"She's single. Whoever he was, he was a cheating bag of dicks. At least that's how she put it," Furia noted as if she were speaking about the weather. "And the only way you're going to know if she might like nice guys, Mikey, is if you ask her."

"I know," he sighed sinking back in his seat a little. "I'm just--"

"Part of the crew that pulled of a rocking heist night."

"Yeah, but I'm not one of the guys people look at, like Memo and Dean-O."

"Dean-O's a douche bag, not the star to aim for man. Trust me."

"Yeah, because being the nice guy thing is working so well for me. Oww," he replied when Furia slapped him on the shoulder harder than he expected.

She shook her head at him. "If you don't think you're good enough for her you aren't, and nothing I say is going to convince you otherwise. She could still turn you down even if you ask. But at least then you know you gave it a shot. Left here," she added as they approached an intersection.

He watched her when she leaned forward searching the street.

"Ah, there you are," she muttered.

The woman looked up and down the street, he assumed it was to check the traffic flow. So he did the same thing, trying to make note of everything that seemed pertinent. The long sigh next to him pulled his attention from the street.

"Yay or Nay?" he asked.

 "Not sure yet." She clacked her teeth together a few times then looked over at him. "Do a three block loop for me and take your time. I'll meet you at the corner back there either way."

"Cool."

When she got out, she closed the door and leaned back into the car's window. "Just ask the woman out. Try something simple and innocuous, coffee or lunch. It will make you stand out. Believe me. For some reason, guys in this gang don't understand you can't get something started in fifth gear."

Mikey could not help but laugh at her assessment. She tapped the top of the car to let him know he could leave her there. For about a second and a half, he realized that leaving her in the middle of Los Carnales territory might be described by Johnny, Troy, and Memo as the opposite of keeping an eye on her.

_But this is Furia we're talking about. She can take care of herself. Hell, she kicked my ass. How much help am I really going to be if something did go down?_ he thought as he drove. _Though I am a better shot than her._ He smiled at that realization.

This part of the Barrio seemed a lot quieter during the day, Mikey noticed. It was a really stark difference compared to the last time he saw it. Of course that had been a special set of circumstances. There were a few folks sporting red with a purpose, but not a ton, it seemed more like a smattering. It wasn't like walking through the row where purple travelled in packs and seemed to be all over the place.

When he caught a red light, there was one big guy on the corner who flipped Mikey off before he started gesturing widely and yelling a mile a minute in Spanish. If the Saint had to take a guess by the body language alone, he was pretty sure he was being taunted. _Yeah, you've probably got six guys around the corner just waiting for me to get out of my car_. When the light turned green, Mikey winked at him and made a right turn. No amount of taunting would make him leave Furia out to dry in LC territory.

"Yeah that would be a great one to try and explain while two lieutenants and her brother take turns stomping me into Spam. She told me to drive around the block. I started shit with some idiots, and yeah sorry for totally screwing the pooch," Mikey mimicked weakly as he moved with the flow of traffic. He shook the image he concocted out of his head. The country boy really had no desire to see his own spleen.

True to her word, she was at the corner when he turned onto the little side street, leaning there with one foot propped against the wall, like she had not a care in the world. When he pulled to the curb, she strolled over to the car and leaned in the open window.

"Hand me my bag, please."

He set it on the seat between them. "Does it look okay?"

"Yeah, but not good enough to let you get a real look at anything."

He tamped his hand against the steering wheel and looked out the windshield.

"Relax, it's not like this is the last time I'll be doing something like this. You could say this is my bread and butter," she said with a chuckle. "Go up a block, take a right, two more then find a nice legal parking space, and wait. When that bright blue Mag drives by, fall in behind me. Got it?"

"North one, east two, hang out then follow the leader," he repeated quickly, glancing back over at her.

"Good boy," she chided. "You might just earn yourself a treat."

"I'm all about the gold stars, Teach. I can put it right here on the dash," he said polishing a spot near the steering wheel with his sleeve.

Furia groaned and pushed away from the door. He noticed the bag was still in the seat when she jaywalked across the street and started up the other sidewalk. Whatever she needed she took with her, he assumed. As much as he really wanted to sneak a peek he could not. With almost no cars in that area she directed him to, Mikey was able to find a resting spot quickly. He had barely put the Ant in park when a full throaty horn blared, making him check the mirror. She waved at him as the big SUV drove past.

Three cars later he pulled into the lane and carefully caught up to her. In the stolen vehicle Furia drove quite carefully. She stayed right at the speed limit the entire time, even signaling every turn and obeying the right of way. It stood out against her driving a few nights earlier where she used her knowledge of Stilwater and of the cars they were driving to outsmart cops and bangers alike.

She really seemed to have the city wired between her contacts and her knowledge of the streets. The previous night she would put those cars in places he never thought they would go and find ways out of corners he would have gotten trapped in. While he was pretty sure that given the chance he could pick up on stealing cars, getting around town would be his weakness.

In the factories district she turned onto the train tracks and he followed on the uneven turf near them, certain the tracks would tear up the undercarriage of his Ant. When it started ringing, he answered his phone immediately.

"Yo!"

_"You can wait up there on the street. Forgot to tell you that part,"_ Furia said apologetically.

"Cool. I was a little worried there for a minute."

_"I bet. Plus this guy is a little jumpy with new people. I'll be back in five."_

When the line went dead, he carefully backed his prize possession to the edge of the street and sat there, waiting. The same La Fuerza cruised the block twice, he only knew it was the same because the driver had his pompadour dyed fire engine red to match his car. At least that was Mikey's assessment of the reasoning.

A few minutes after the last pass, he noticed Furia walking up the tracks with a triumphant grin. When he texted her about the guy, her pace quickened and the message she texted back made him slide into the passenger seat.

"Thanks for the heads up," she said as she approached the car.

When she stopped cold on the passenger side of his car, he turned in time to see what she saw.

"Down," she yelled, yanking open the door. She pulled him out of the car and to the ground. 

The guy did not even hang around to check to see if he hit them after he sprayed the car with nearly a full clip from an SMG.

"You okay?" she asked as she patted Mikey on the back. He nodded at her. "Good. Get in and buckle up."

Furia dashed around the car and did as she had instructed him as she threw the small car into reverse and turned it in the direction the shooter had come from.

"He went the other way," Mikey said with a poke of his thumb toward the waterfront.

"Oh. I'm well aware of where he went. Deeper into Carnales waters, with the hopes that we might follow. I, however, am not going to take the bait for one guy with a bad dye job. Even if he did shoot up your Ant."

Mikey nodded. _Sound logic. And encouraging her into gunfights might not be the best call, unless you changed your mind about seeing your spleen,_ he told himself as they sped east toward the barrio, which did not make complete sense to him.

"You know this is all red space, right?"

Her eyes darted to his. "Yeah, well I have friends in Chinatown. Someone who might be able to willing to tarp this bright colored little girl long enough for us to drop off their radar."

Sticking to side streets and cutting through a few alleys, they wound up out back of a shop that tucked up under the highway. When she got out, so did he.

"Grab that tarp there," she ordered sharply.

After covering the Ant, Furia told him to place cinder blocks on the corners to try and keep the cover weighted down. Since it was not a car cover, it would not really stay without encouragement.

"Hey Dennis! This is Miguel's cousin. No, I haven't talked to him lately. Sure I can pass along a message if I see him. Is that right? If I see him at his father's on Sunday, I'll let him know. Yeah. I just wanted to let you know I was stashing a hot little number outside your shop. Sure thing. He's at the tea house, right? No. I've got some time. I'll go over and ask in person. Thanks for the heads up."

She stuffed the phone in her pocket and pressed her hands to her face, screaming into her palms.

"What's up?" Mikey asked leaning on the tarped vehicle.

"Apparently my cousin is being ridiculous again," Furia growled. She leaned her head back and set her hands on her hips as she took a few long breaths. "All right. We're going to go say hi to an old family friend. You are going to stand there, quietly and respectfully, the entire time because I would prefer not to have pay for whatever stupid stunt my cousin has pulled. And you will not say anything to anyone about this little excursion."

"I can handle that."

"Good." She looked in Mikey's direction, her eyes skimming over him quickly. "Is any of that you are wearing something you are loath to part with?"

The question seemed to come out of left field.

"Uh. No," he replied rather sheepishly looking down at himself. His response sounded like a question, even to him.

"Okay. Come on," Furia ordered, rounding the building quickly and heading up the street. "Let's just hope this works."


	14. Red Faced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An impromptu meeting in Chinatown pays off in ways Furia could not have expected. While she and Mikey are working their way down Miguel's shopping list, Detective Markovson is making the rounds to try and fill in the blanks on the Saints' new mystery girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, appreciation for my friend Chyrstis

**14 Red Faced**

**-1-**

The heels were too big, the skirt was too short, and the top was a size too small, but it was the best she could do at Sloppy Seconds. Furia was not quite sure how Mr. Wong's people would react to the two Vice 9s that Mikey was carrying, but she rather hoped they might just let it slide. The Red Blossom Tea House was a Stilwater landmark established by Wong Sheng Tai when he came to the city from China.

Furia had not been in this place in years. The last time she had been in the tea house was with her grandfather before he passed. He would bring her here whenever he visited with Mr. Wong. She remembered always having to dress up; Abuelo told her it was a sign of respect to show up at a business meeting dressed appropriately. Alejandro Guerrero knew the Chinese businessman well. It was not until after her abuelo died that Furia realized his association with Wong was more than friendship and that the business they discussed was not always on the up-and-up.

Stopping at the corner, she turned to Mikey again, setting her hand on his upper arm. "Just go with me on this. Stand there, look stoic and a little intimidating, but respectful. I don't have the clout to actually be having this conversation. Thankfully, Mr. Wong doesn't know that." _And hopefully Julius won't mind._ She tugged at the hem of the blouse she was wearing.

"Cool out, girl. I got your back," Mikey assured.

"Also, I kind of know him. So don't be surprised if he says something along those lines."

The young man's eyes widened. "You know Wong?"

"Kind of. It’s a long story that we don't have time for right now, so just let it go. I promise, if you don't react like that," she said, indicating his current expression, "I'll tell you about it later."

"That sounds like it will be a good story."

"Not really. But let's get this over with."

When Furia reached for the door, Mikey beat her to it.

"Appearances. Remember?" he said quietly.

Nodding, she walked past him into the carefully decorated space. When she came here with her grandfather, one of the traditionally dressed women would seat the girl at a small private table and keep her company while the men spoke. Once business concluded, the meeting would end with tea, which she was allowed to take with them. This time around it was she that walked toward the door flanked by two sizable gentlemen dressed in tunics and silk pants.

Furia bowed respectfully, hoping Mikey would mirror the action. "I am here to speak with Wong Sheng Tai," she said demurely.

One thing Furia learned early in her life is that people's expectations sometimes must be played to. Wong knew the obedient granddaughter of a business associate, and that was what he would see. Except that she was no longer family by association, but seeking to create her own connection, personal if possible but if she had to play a purple card she would. Of course that would leave her scrambling trying to figure out a way to explain that to Julius and his lieutenants.

"You are?" he asked, looking from her to the young man behind her.

"Alejandro Guerrero's granddaughter."

The man to her right said nothing he merely nodded and slipped through the door. The wait seemed excruciatingly long. When the door opened again, she was waved through, but as she suspected they would not let Mikey pass. Thankfully she warned him for just such an occurrence. It was also likely better that way; no responsibility for her or her actions could be placed up on him, if something went sideways.

Again she bowed, this time a little lower to show her deference. The older man waved her to a spot opposite him at the small table and she sat down, curling her legs beside her as she recalled being instructed when she was younger. Then the Mandarin began and the translator repeated what Wong said in English. Furia knew to keep her eyes on the older man, even as the younger man spoke.

"Dennis told me to expect to hear from you, but I did not think you would come in person."

Ducking her head once more, she said, "How could I not come here? You were a dear friend of my grandfather, were he alive he would have been gravely disappointed to find that I had sought out your consideration so impersonally."

There was no need for the translator to go from English to Mandarin. Wong Sheng Tai understood the language perfectly well, he even spoke it on occasion, but those moments were rare indeed. He preferred his native language, and she was more than willing to humor him.

"And what is it you seek from our visit?" Wong asked, staring her in the eye the same way he would when he spoke to her as a girl. It unnerved her then, almost as much as it did now.

"I would seek your leave to conduct business in Little Shanghai."

"This territory does not belong to me."

"I would beg to differ. I imagine even if the Westside Rollerz do blanket Chinatown in blue that they are merely here at your pleasure."

Wong laughed and smiled at her. Then the translator clarified the older man's words. "You are very much like your grandfather. Very prudent of you to come. Do you speak only for yourself or would you speak for …" he paused for a moment and considered his phrasing.

"The Saints," she offered with another bow to curb any offense that might be taken.

"Indeed."

"My intention was to seek consideration for permission to conduct my own personal business."

Another thoughtful nod. "If you are part of this group, your business could be considered their business."

"Yes, sir. It could."

"Then would you not seek to clarify any misunderstandings before they occur."

"Certainly," she agreed.

That is when the details started flying. Mr. Wong outlined his expectation of protection of his rackets and interests in Chinatown. Dennis not only informed him of Furia's presence in Chinatown, but also of the type of work she was known for and requested that her assistance with some work on that front. The old man also requested a personal favor from her to be collected at a later date. When she tried to place a caveat upon it, the mobster assured her it would be professional in nature. Reluctantly she agreed to the blind request. In return, the generosity of the Saints and her personally would net the Saints a 27.35% share in Wong's interests, up from a flat 20%.

Furia felt pleased about the number, though she really did not know if that was an adequate figure for something of this nature--a fact she was not willing to admit to anyone. Once the business was concluded Wong gestured to the man at the door. This was the part she knew best. Mikey looked a little peaked when he entered the room, but seemed to regain some color when he was waved toward the spot opposite the translator.

Introductions were made. Tea and conversation shared. Furia even managed to allow herself to relax slightly, this was comfortable and oddly familiar.

 

**-2-**

The diversion earlier in the afternoon served to give the pair some separation from whatever had set the Carnales off. After tea, they picked up the other car that seemed like an easy mark and delivered it to Miguel's contact on the docks. Given the insanity of the day and how well Mikey handled it all, Furia decided to make good on her promise, but she was fresh out of gold stars, so he sacrificed himself and let her buy him dinner instead.

It was no surprise that the diner was packed, mainly with purple, she noticed as the pair crossed the street. They were spotted driving up which set off a myriad of waves and the frantic gesturing as they approached the diner. Peaches and Lucy were laughing by the time she and Mikey reached the door. Within three steps, the song started and Furia froze when she recognized it. She could not help but laugh as the somewhat nasal voice started singing, "I come home in the morning light / My mother says when you gonna live your life right / Oh mother dear we're not the fortunate ones." The entire group of seven women clad in varying amounts and shades of purple all joined in with "And girls they want to have fun / Oh girls just want to have fun."

Furia smiled and skipped stupidly toward them a few times as some of the other girls kept singing and dancing in their seats.

"I'm never going to live this down, am I?" Furia asked Peaches.

"Probably not." She hugged the taller woman quickly. "Hey Mikey," the petite strawberry blonde said, waving at him over Furia's shoulder.

"Hi," he replied and slid into a booth.

"What are you all doing here?" Furia asked. She was not surprised that he ducked out of sight. It was too much to hope for a miracle of sudden confidence.

"Oh, we were just going to check out that new place On Track later. You guys wanna come with?"

"I can't, but Mikey might be game."

When she said his name he looked over at the pair of them, Furia noticed the little flash of deer-in-headlights before he leaned on the back of the booth.

"Game for what?" he asked.

"Checking out that new club over near the Barrio," Peaches prompted.

Mikey nodded. "I've heard its really great. Huge dance floor in the basement."

"And the DJ is supposed to be really good, too."

Furia stood there for a moment until she was certain that the conversation no longer included her. Then she just took a seat at the counter and smiled at Marta. "Could I have a Vanilla shake?"

"Sure thing, mija." She placed the order on the little metal spinner and leaned against the counter watching the conversation Furia was trying to ignore. "So what is that you are doing that makes you not able to go?" the older woman asked.

"Sleeping, like a normal human," Furia said quietly with a wistful smile. Now that things had slowed down, the exhaustion began to creep up on her.

"They are cute together," Marta observed.

"Ever the mother, even when they aren't your kids."

Marta grinned. "May as well, these ones are in here all the time."

"Ask Jay to make that to go, will you?"

Surprisingly Furia was able to sneak out of the diner without anyone stopping her, though she only got half a block before Lucy texted her and asked where she had disappeared to. After typing out an explanation of her lack of sleep and her upcoming very long day, the young Vietnamese girl let the Latina off the hook for the night. The night air was chilly and getting colder by the minute, which made her glad she only lived a few blocks from the place. The walk gave her the first real moment of calm she got all day. It also made her aware of the fact that there was a lot more purple wandering around her block than usual. The observation did not have the chance to percolate into a thought before her phone rang loudly in her pocket.

"Dime," she answered as she usually did.

_"Where'd you go?"_ Mikey asked, she could hear the giggling in the background.

"I got no sleep last night so I'm going to crash." Before he could argue anything she added, "Have fun. And I'll see you about ten."

_"Cool."_

 

**-3-**

Detective Markovson decided to play a hunch. Bradshaw said this Furia girl was a wheelman. After checking with the Robbery Division and coming up dry, he took a shot in the dark and called a guy he had known since the academy was working the Auto Theft Unit out of the Southside. The one man in Stilwater that knew the almost everything about motor vehicle theft in the city was Lieutenant John Tortelli. Alan knew two things for certain about John--he was a hard ass and he was honest to a fault. The first got him to the rank of Lieutenant, the second was going to keep him there.

Unsurprisingly, Tortelli was nowhere near a station house; rather he was staking out a car one of their informants had put out a request for. The big hotel by the airport was the perfect spot to stake it out from. The thieves in Stilwater loved the long term storage parking at Wardill Airport; it was like a candy store. Whether they were stealing for shipment, parts, or just a getaway vehicle, this was usually the first stop of many.

What he had not expected to see, was the long-legged young woman he met less than a week earlier. When he caught sight of her, Markovson moved out of sight quickly, taking a seat and lifting a magazine high enough to obscure his face. The pictures wouldn't be great, but it really did not matter. Alan snapped a few shots of her and the young man she was cuddled up next to at the counter; the two were grinning and giggling as they waited for their room key.

_I guess you like 'em young. Who is your boyfriend?_

Everything about that scene seemed to scream that maybe her skill set included more than just driving. Just like the last time he saw her she was showing off tons of skin and miles of leg; the only difference: this time the boots screamed _fuck me_ , too. Once she got the key, Furia steered the young man with her toward the elevator, casting a glance behind her as her eyes scanned the lobby.

It did not seem like she noticed him. After the doors closed and the elevator started counting upwards, Alan crossed the lobby and stopped at the desk. He flashed his badge at the young woman and got the room number: 1601. According to the clerk, it was a corner room reserved under the name Michael D'Angelo.

The detective couldn't help thinking that this afternoon was starting to look very productive. He placed a call to Vice and had one of the secretaries there pull everything on that name and leave it on his desk. He reached room 1827 just as he finished his call with the office, and one of the officers there escorted him to where John was seated at a bank of terminals.

"Christ, man. You guys have one hell of a set up," Markovson observed with a trace of envy. His guys were still using handheld video recorders and crappy mics that gave the techs issues with feedback in certain situations.

"Yeah, well. People in Stilwater love their cars. Especially the politicians," John said, turning and shaking the other officer's hand. "I hear you need to look at my book."

"Not really, just need you to look at a face, tell me if you know her." Alan's eyes were glued to the screens. _Their bait sure is one hell of a beautiful car_. Attraziones were not cheap, and to have one on the hook floored him.

"She?" Tortelli replied not hiding his surprise. "We've only got a few female boosters in town that I know of. One of them is upstate and the other is running with the Rollerz."

"My guy says she's a driver. But Robbery's never heard of her."

"What's her name?"

"Furia," Markovson said, tugging the mug shot photo out of his jacket pocket.

John took the picture. "Her name not her handle."

"Damn, boss," a young officer replied as he glanced at the shot.

"You can say that again," Alan added. "Some uniforms thought she was a prostitute."

Tortelli stared at the picture. "If she is, she would not be working a corner. But I have seen her. She's a known associate of Miguel Guerrero."

"Really? She boosts for him?" Markovson said with a nod. There was a moment where he might just have some leverage.

"Not that we can tell. She just goes over there often. They seem close though. All touchy feely with the hugs and stuff."

"Could you ask some of your informants about her?"

"You want me to burn my contacts for you?" John said, turning and glancing back up at the other cop. "On some coquette your boy says is a driver? Come on, Alan. I understand you guys in Vice are getting desperate. I mean you've had a guy deep for three years with precisely dick to show for it."

"Screw you, Tortelli."

"I mean if I was running that kind of track record I'd eat my badge. Or my gun."

Markovson kept his rising temper under control. He knew that Vice was quickly becoming the laughing stock of the department, and the excuse that deep cover takes time to produce results was beginning to wear thin. It also did not help that all the gangs moved beyond just concerns of the Vice Unit, so they had to occasionally nip at the resources of Robbery, Homicide, Narcotics, and Auto Theft. Of course, as things drew on those other units stopped being quite so helpful, stating that the assistance was taking away from their own investigations. Alan didn't buy it. It seemed like a crock.

"I bet you would. But I guess that's why they put people with patience on long term assignments like this. If you see the girl, let me know. And just so you know, she's two floors down in a corner room with a great view of your parking garage. So she might not be as innocuous as you think," Alan stated with the hope that maybe letting them in on her presence might make them a little more aware.

 

**-4-**

Mikey stood on the bed and stared out the open sliding glass door through high-powered binoculars. The bright red sports car was sitting near the elevator, right under a light. _You'd think if they wanted to tempt people they would not put the damn thing in the least conducive place for stealing something--high traffic area and well lit. Someone needs to teach these cops Thief 101._

He shrugged and laid the heavy binoculars on the desk before he hopped back on the bed and started channel surfing again. The knock on the door brought a smile to his lips as he slid off the mattress and padded to the door. When he checked the peephole in the door, his chest started fluttering. He took a deep calming breath and tried not to smile too widely when he yanked open the door.

"What are you doing here?"

Peaches blinked up at him and held out a large brown paper bag. "A little bird told me you were stuck here with really bad room service."

Mikey felt the heat rising in his cheeks. "You want to come in?"

"Sure," she said and walked right past him with a quick wink.

He was not sure what to think. Furia had told him to keep an eye on that car. Now she was sending over the worst person possible, if she wanted him to concentrate on what he was supposed to be doing. _Or maybe she just totally set you up_ , he thought for a second before shaking the idea out of his head. That seemed just too far-fetched.

As he followed Peaches across the room, he grabbed his shirt off the back of the chair and pulled it on over the undershirt he had on, buttoning it up as he moved toward the table.

"Hope you like Italian," Peaches said as she pulled little tins out of the bag.

"Come on now. With a last name like D'Angelo, you have to go there."

"You never know. You could be allergic to tomatoes." Her laugh was light and bright, Mikey liked it. She turned and blinked up at him, proffering a black plastic fork. "I have quite an assortment. The Lama's serve the best food in the city, so it was a tough call."

There were about a ten little containers set on the table along with a two-liter bottle of soda.

"Well," Mikey said, taking the fork from her and looking her in the eye. "I'll have a little of everything."

That smile was the main reason his pulse was racing, it was also the first thing he noticed about her. It was just a little crooked and it made her big green eyes that much brighter. There was a thin little scar on the very edge of her upper lip that would pucker slightly and seemed to be part of the reason for the crookedness. Swallowing the growing lump in his throat he regained he senses long enough to volunteer to fetch ice.

 

**-5-**

Javier paced slowly as he spoke on the phone. Furia just watched the exchange for a moment. He seemed a little more tense than usual, and she could not help but wonder if Dex was riding him. When he closed the phone, he looked up at the gray clouds overhead. It looked like it was going to rain that afternoon, or maybe it would wait for the evening, either way it was probably going to wind up frosting overnight if the forecast held.

"¿Cómo andas[i], guey?" she greeted as she walked up behind him.

"¡Híjole!" The jerk of his shoulders showed she had startled him, which made her smile slightly. Javier turned and looked at her for a moment. "Dale[ii]," he said as his eyes continued to move along her frame. "You clean up well, don't you, Hermosa?"

She nodded at him once. "You want someone else to drive for you? Fine. Me abro[iii]."

"Jesus, Furia," he sighed as he rushed forward and grabbed her arm.

She glared at him, her eyes flickering to his hand on her wrist once before returning to his face. He released her quickly, making a show of holding his hands up. "I got it. Shoot. Can't you just take a compliment?"

"No. Because it is never just a compliment. Or were you staring freely at my legs because you were making an assessment of my skeletal structure?"

Javier rubbed at the back of his neck for a moment.

"Thought so. Troy said you were looking for a driver," Furia said, putting them back on task.

"A friend called, he needs someone who can step in for their usual guy. Idiot got pinched on some botched bank job."

"I don't do high profile work like that. Too many cameras. And it gives too many people a reason to remember your face."

Javier snorted his approval of the opinion. "No this is low profile. Kind of."

"Kind of?" Furia replied. "I don't like the sound of that."

"It's hard to explain. But he needs a driver for some … stuff."

"What kind of stuff?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest and eyeing him carefully as he started to fidget.

"Look, usually I keep gigs like this for the guys. But you're good. And word is you need the work. Okay?"

"That does not answer the question, Javier."

He looked up at her with uncertain eyes as the back of his hand scraped along the bottom of his jaw. "Girls."

Furia turned and started to walk away again.

"¡Mira! It's good money. You just keep your eyes on the road and make sure things go off without a hitch."

Biting her bottom lip hard, she shook her head. Furia could not even believe she was about to ask this question. "How good are we talking?"

When she turned, she noticed the corner of Javier's mouth twitch. "They consider it a VIP service and it's very lucrative. Would you be willing to meet the guy?" Javier asked, trying to hide the wince that tightened his features.

"Fine," she agreed, hardly able to believe she was willing to consider this type of driving.

Javier led her around the corner to his car, a little green Vegas whose engine sounded like it needed a little attention if the high-pitched whine was any indication. They were not that far from the location, a sketchy little strip club called Turbulence; it turned out Furia could have said no as soon as she left the Hapton Hotel earlier. She knew the club by reputation. Some of the girls that started working at the Candy Store before she left had been there just before Vice busted the place about six months prior. The previous owner had skipped town just before it went down. It had reopened a few months back "under new management," though its reputation was not much better.

"Jack's in the back," a large bouncer told Javier as they walked in.

Furia ignored the glance cast in her direction and followed Dex's guy through the club. He held the door to the office open for her as she passed. The man at the table slid the sunglasses down the bridge of his nose and made no attempts to hide his inspection. Furia returned the favor and made no attempts to hide her contempt.

"Javier, I thought you were bringing me a driver, not a girl for the backseat."

"Good luck with that," Furia replied and started for the door, but in her irritation turned right into Javier.

"Jack, come on man. She's the best driver we've got and you wanted the best."

"Look, babe."

"Furia," Javier corrected before she could.

"Fine. Furia, there is a lot of money to be made for someone with good hands that can handle a car. It can be you, or it can be some horny little stooge. Makes no difference to me," Jack said as he leaned back in his chair.

"I'm listening," she said, facing him again.

"It's simple. Occasionally some of our high-profile regulars want a little more than a lap dance. Now, normally," he said with a gesture toward the door, "they could go off to the VIP room, bust a nut and be on their way. But a few of these cats have … shall we say … special tastes that they like to keep, uh, private. If you catch my meaning?"

"What are we talking about?"

"Nothing non-consensual, if that's what you're worried about. Let's just say I'm all about protecting my … umm … merchandise," Jack replied.

Furia closed her eyes and shook her head. _Yeah, this was a step she was not planning on taking, ever._

"What I need from you, from the Saints, is someone to drive the girls, pick up the freaks--I mean, johns, and give them a little privacy. Your main goal is to just make sure no one sees what's going on, all right?"

Furia looked from Jack to Javier as she chewed at the inside of her cheek.

The other Saint leaned toward her. "Look. I'll owe you one."

"If you don't mind me saying, a slice like you could make a whole lot more in the backseat than behind the wheel."

"I'm out," Furia replied sharply.

Jack laughed as he stood. "I'm sorry, but I call 'em like I see 'em. If you're content to drive, then I'll live with it. Just saying there are guys that come here that would beat a man to death just to see you with your shoes off, gorgeous."

"Come on, Furia," Javier pleaded quietly. "Dex is adamant about getting a piece of this guy's action."

She tapped her teeth together lightly as she stared at the man in purple. _If this was one of Dex's plays, maybe her helping out might get him to ease up a little. Of course, if might not. But she felt it might be worth a shot._

"Fine, you've got a driver," she said loudly over her shoulder to Jack before turning her attention back to Javier. "And you're going to owe me so much more than one for this, cabrón."

"Vale[iv]," Javier replied quietly.

"Any chance you can start now?" Jack asked, leaning on the table where he had been counting stacks of cash.

Furia stared into the brown eyes of her fellow Saint. "Sí. My other deal fell through, so I'm free," she said as her attention turned to the club owner.

"Excellent." Jack leaned back and dug a set of keys out of his pocket then tossed them to her. "There's a blacked out socialite behind the club. Ask Ricky--the guy right outside--and he'll show you the back entrance. Tell him to give you Ekaterina's address. I'll call her and tell her you're on your way."

Furia caught the keys and held onto them tightly. She had done a lot of illegal things with and in cars, but this was a first. It was also a job she was not so certain about. It was like the work with Will. It felt weird to her. But part of her knew that was her own hang up. She tried not to think about it too hard. The politics of anything to do with sex could be hairy.

It was probably like at the Candy Store. There were girls that danced because it was the best work they could find, and there were those that were there because they really actually loved dancing, regardless of the audience. Hell it's not like she loved bartending, Furia equivocated. She did it because it paid and it was as close to a stage as she was willing to get. Even at the bar, there was a certain amount of performance involved--flirting equated to tips, and she made decent money behind the bar. In the end, she decided it was not her place to judge. She was being paid to drive, and that she could live with.

 

[i] ¿Cómo andas?: How's it going?

[ii] Dale: The same old story

[iii] Me abro: I'm off.

[iv] Vale: ok


	15. Unconventional Episodes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Furia finds out that there is more to driving than racing and boosting cars. Her first trip with Ekaterina is an experience she never could have imagined. And her plans for a quiet evening go astray when the lights go out in the suburbs. *Graphic warning.*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Chy for all her help on this piece. She is not only my reader but in so many ways an accomplice on this crazy joyride through Stilwater. All your help is appreciated as are your trips into the insane little diversions my brain can take.

****  
15 Unconventional Episodes

**-1-**

Ekaterina lived within fifteen minutes of the Turbulence in a walkup above the Taqueria Juanitos in Encanto. Furia eyed the shop for a moment and actually thought about it before she turned off the car and ducked into the bright red wooden door. When she came back out, the tall leggy blonde woman was leaning near the rear door of the car.

"Apologies. Couldn't resist," Furia offered in apology for the cup in her hand, which brimmed tropical fruit topped with salt, chili powder, and lime.

"Do not concern yourself," the woman said in heavily accented English. "Their fruit pico de gallo is absolute heaven."

Furia grinned in agreement as she dug the keys out of her pocket. With a click of a button the doors were unlocked and both women entered on the driver's side, one in the front seat, one in the back. This Socialite was not an off the assembly line model. Jack it seemed made a solid investment in this vehicle and had extended it enough to allow there to be quite a bit of wiggle room in the backseat. Then there was the addition of the sliding glass partition, which had been up when Furia picked up the car.

But once she pulled into traffic there was a tap on the glass. It took her a minute to find the controls.

"Forgive my manners. I forgot to introduce myself. I am Ekaterina," the other woman said, offering her hand.

Furia shook it awkwardly with her right hand and gave her name.

"Truly. That is what they call you?"

With a nod and a laugh, she confirmed it.

"And do you live up to such a telling name?"

Furia thought about it for a moment, remembering the conversation she had with Jack not half an hour before. "Sometimes."

"Well, we should not have cause to put it to the test today. This is my relaxing day. No heavy lifting so to speak," the eastern European woman said with a little laugh.

"So what is on the docket?"

"Head downtown to Atlantis Avenue, it's almost time for my sewing group, as I like to call them."

Casting a glance over her right shoulder Furia cocked an eyebrow up at the woman, who laughed at the gesture.

"Five God fearing women, who have me on their prayer list, but are smart enough to know that being a lamb in the sheets will not keep their preacher husbands from straying."

Furia choked on a bite of watermelon, and it was not because of the spices.

Ekaterina leaned back on the seat near the partition. "That was my reaction the first time I met them. We used to have these little … _classes_ in a hotel, but one of their husbands accused her of cheating. So now they just pay directly, telling their husbands that the sewing club does not have a bank account. Cash is always better, is it not?"

"Cannot argue with you there," Furia replied.

This was fast looking like it was not going to be the hell of fake orgasms and grunting that she had expected. Though she was not convinced that more traditional exchanges would not be on the menu at some point, there was little to no chance that all of this woman's clients would quite so tame.

"So, what do these classes entail?" Furia asked as she moved in and out of traffic on the freeway.

"Oh, fairly tame stuff. Bondage for beginners, how to convince him to go downtown as Eliza put it. This week is Peggy's request. And just a heads up we'll need a smooth stretch of road for this one, I really don't want to have to take anyone to the hospital for a bruised esophagus. Might be hard to explain."

Another choking laugh made Furia's eyes blur.

"And for this one they probably won't mind if you leave the window down, though they might add you to their prayer requests."

"I have no doubt. Not sure it will help all that much."

"You're telling me."

The traffic on Atlantic Avenue was slow, but moving. The five women dressed in skirts and dresses just looked like an old fashioned bible study on tour. One of them had to be pushing her fifties and the little pillbox hat she wore was cute as a button, but Furia wondered how she planned on keeping that that hat on while practicing fellatio on … _Oh God!_ She had not thought about the logistics up until that moment and the image that flashed through her head almost cracked her composure.

"Would you open the door for them? They like the politeness of it. You don't have to for anyone else."

"Sure, why not?" Furia replied, putting the car in park.

"Oh my goodness. They sent us a lady driver. What a treat?" the older woman in the hat cooed, clasping her hands beneath her chin. "I'm Margaret Post." She held out her hand, palm down to Furia who took it and shook it gently, if not awkwardly. "I'm what you could call the leader of our little club here. And you are?"

"Furia," the young woman replied.

"Oh, what a darling name," a brunette crooned.

The driver opened the door for them.

"You are just the cutest thing, my dear. How old are you?" a platinum blonde asked, halting the loading of the car.

"Oh Peggy, leave her be," Margaret called from inside the vehicle.

"I was just wondering. I think Henry might like her."

"She does not want to be set up with your son who still lives at home," the brunette added. "Come on, now."

"Well it never hurts to ask, and he does have a thing for those exotic types."

Furia tried to keep her smile taut, she did not want to laugh or offend anyone.

"He's an engineer dear, one of those brilliant-but-not kinds. And I bet he would just love you," Peggy added.

"I appreciate the thought, ma'am. But I don't think I'm the type of girl you're looking for," the driver confided in a quiet voice.

Peggy's blue eyes widened. "Oh, are you a …?"

"No ma'am." _Much worse_ , Furia thought but did not say.

"Go on, Peggy," the impatient brunette said, poking the other woman in the ribs.

"Hold your horses, Bernice," Peggy called as she finally gave up on her attempts to match Furia with her son.

Once all the women were inside, she closed the door and jogged around the car in time to see a van approaching. It seemed a little odd. Then she noticed the guy with a camera. Putting two and two together, along with the statement Jack made earlier about keeping things private, Furia wondered if this was going to end up being a little more than just a naughty chauffeur gig.

"All right ladies," Ekaterina said as Furia slid back behind the wheel. "I brought all kinds today. I have enough Caucasian ones for each of you, if you prefer to go with what you know. But if you're feeling frisky I also brought others."

The chorus of giggles died away into clearly awed oohs and aahs  after the latches of the case were undone. It nearly broke Furia's concentration. This was going to be one for the record books. She had driven a car once in high school while her friend was riding a guy like she stole him, but trying to drive while five good Christian women were getting tips and tricks for hand jobs and giving head--this drive would be one she would never forget.

"Oh my goodness. Can I have the pink one?" Peggy drawled in a thick southern accent. "Pink is my signature color."

Furia bit down on her bottom lip hard and checked the mirrors as she turned onto the boulevard to make her way back to the freeway. The sound of crunching metal pulled her attention back to the road. That van was definitely following and it had just side swiped some little sports car as it tried to catch them in the turn. Sliding into the turn onto the on ramp, the ladies screeched in the backseat.

Before they could say anything, the driver apologized, explaining that someone was tailing them, and that she would be more careful once they were on the freeway loop.

"Oh, dear me," Bernice cooed, gesturing with a rather large black dong as she glanced behind them. "Imagine the gossip in the women's club if they found out we were riding around town in the back of a car learning about cock. For shame."

Furia turned the choked laughter into an almost convincing cough, as she sped through traffic the van had been joined by a little compact car that had way too much interest in keeping up with the tricked out Socialite. Thankfully length was not the only thing Jack had added to this monster. The engine purred happily and the suspension was spot on for driving at high speed. It was an incredibly responsive car.

When the loop ended in the suburbs Furia called out a quick warning. "Hold onto something ladies, and if you're practicing come up for air."

A chorus of surprised groans and goodnesses and even a damn punctuated the screech of tires and the jostling of the vehicle as it fishtailed in the middle of the road. The screams came when the van and the little Vegas turned into the lane and headed straight for the blacked out sedan. Furia knew what this car would let her do and when she hopped the curb the van plowed into one of the support structures and the other car hit the photographer. There were too-pleased cheers from the backseat as she returned the car to the roadway and sped onto the freeway again.

An hour later, Furia happily pulled back onto Atlantis Avenue and stopped near where they had picked the women up. Again the driver opened the door for the ladies who all hugged her politely as they exited.

"My goodness dear, you certainly can drive a car," Margaret opined. "We would so love to have you at our next meeting if it would be possible. May I get your number so I can arrange it?"

"Umm. Sure," Furia replied with a hint of a shrug.

Margaret leaned toward the younger woman and touched her arm speaking more covertly. "And do not worry dear. I will _not_ give Peggy your number. Otherwise she'll be begging to set you up with that loser son of hers."

"I appreciate that, Mrs. Post."

The self-proclaimed leader of Ekaterina's sewing club gathered her flock back up and the five of them strolled in a prim and proper line toward the a little café on the corner. No one would guess that not more than an hour ago they were all testing out their gag reflexes. Furia shook her head and rounded the car.

Furia quickly discovered Ekaterina was quite loquacious and seemed to be plugged into several circles in Stilwater. She talked about everything from the clients, to her life and interests. The driver listened with half-hearted interest until the other woman started talking about the racing scene in the city. It was something Furia knew of, but except for the race she ran for Lin, she really had little experience with it for the same reason that kept her from that scene now. She did not have her own whip, and she had no desire to be some racer's trophy. There were few other roles available to her in that scene since she was not a mechanic, though most of what she did know came from that arena.

The information that the next night there was a big race in Black Bottom did Furia little good. Even if she could get her hands on a car, she could not get it in shape to run. For about half a second she thought about asking Memo, but she knew his Cavallaro, close as it may be, was not ready to run full tilt. Without a car of her own, her best chance was borrow a beast, an idea which she quickly shook off.

Her driving gig ended before eight o'clock which gave her enough time to drive the car back to the airport and catch a cab to the suburbs. She strolled the neighborhood near the import dealership for several hours, grabbing a bite from Freckle Bitch's and eating on a bench that allowed her a clear view of the security patrol on the lot.

A kid Johnny knew worked there said there was an Attrazione on the lot having its spark plugs changed. The owner would be there to retrieve it in the morning. The other Italian was dirty, she knew. _But this one, her, I can get away with. And once I get that girl on the freeway, she's as good as mine._

"Long time no see, my lovely," the olive-toned man with the slicked back hair greeted, offering his hand.

With an exasperated sigh, Furia set her hand in his and let him kiss her knuckles. If she did not, he would get offended and might not help her get this girl off the lot.

"How's it going, Vinnie?"

"Vincent, my dear Furia."

She looked at him and he gave up a little ground as well, finally taking a seat beside her.

"Security looks lax, which means they are counting on the cameras," she said, sipping at the remnants of her shake.

"Oh. I've got that under control."

She glanced over at him, and shook her head at the insane grin that contorted his smooth features. "How so?"

"It is always nice to have people who are beholden," the booster cackled.

 _¡Chingame!_ Furia hated working with Vincent Giannino; he was a bad mix of oddly playful and fucking full blown certifiable. He liked to make a big production out of stealing a car, whereas Furia preferred to slip in and out with a little attention as possible. It was probably the reason she had no rap sheet and Vinnie knew half the cops in the Stilwater AT Unit by name.

"Let's get this done."

Furia tossed her empty cup into a nearby trash can then tucked her braid into the collar of the turtle neck she was wearing. When she pulled up the black half face mask, he cocked his head at her.

"I will never understand why you like to hide that beautiful face," he said, ticking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

"Because I prefer not being on the Auto Theft Unit's Christmas list, call me crazy," she replied, lifting one shoulder at him as she shook her head

The psycho tapped at his phone quickly. "Bear with me a moment. This should only take a second."

He started speaking in Italian. Some of it sounded familiar, but then she could say the same thing about French. Then all of the sudden the entire neighborhood went dark. When she looked around, she noticed it was more than the area around the dealership. In the distance the lights of the high-rises could still be seen which suggested that the effect was limited to the suburbs.

"What the hell?" she asked reflexively.

"Some men just have vices they should learn to control. Shall we?" he asked gesturing toward the gate.

Vinnie held the gate open enough for her to squeeze past. He cut the chain on the outer gate while she darted to the secure lot in the back. Cutting around the corner Furia ran headlong into one of the guards. He took a swing at her and knocked her against the brick retaining wall. She kneed him in the groin, doubling him over and brought her fists down on his back. Once he hit the ground, one last kick insured he would not be following her, though he should wake up with one hell of a headache.

The bright blue Attrazione sat all on its own in a wide open sea of asphalt behind an electronic gate. She had planned on using one of Mikey's little toys, but with the power down that was not possible.

"Allow me, my dear," the disturbing voice suggested from behind her. He fidgeted with the gate for a moment then strolled over to Furia, whistling nonchalantly as he grabbed her arm and pulled her back around the corner. With another creepy smile, he leaned over her, pressing her back against the wall as he looked down at her. "Do watch your head, my lovely."

The resulting explosion made her cringe into him. With the realization of what he had just done she punched him in the chest. "What the fuck was that?"

"You had another method to get breach the unbreachable electronic gate with no power?"

"Crazy motherfucker," she replied, shaking her head. The yells of the remaining few guards set them back on task.

He handed her his bag. "The charges are prepared just stick them a few feet apart horizontally and vertically. I'll wake up our girl."

This time she didn't argue. _This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done_ , she told herself as she set the charges like Giannino instructed. "Never again," she muttered at the wall. "I don't give a good goddamn how good he is."

"Hurry, love," he called across the lot.

Furia sprinted back to him.

"Time for you to work your magic," he ordered with a thumbs up.

The car revved to life. It was a sound all to itself somewhere between the sharp kitten on too much catnip of the Asian cars, but not nearly as bassy as American ponies. The little European princess had a voice that could make a grown man, or woman, want to cry or cum.

"Time to go," he noted as he dropped the hood and darted around the nose as Furia leaned over and released the door so he could just slide into the passenger seat. "Go!"

He was pulling the door down as she sped off. The first few shots missed the car completely, but she heard one bounce off something in the rear. Furia shifted quickly through the gears just hoping the bullet had not hit anything vital.

 _Just get to the freeway_ , she thought over and over again. Usually after stealing a car, Furia would try to look like she belonged. But with a car like this, inconspicuous was not going to happen, even at the speed limit. Her best bet was to get it to the shipyard before anyone called the theft in.

After sliding the earpiece onto her ear, she dug out her phone and handed it to Vincent. Find Miguel on my list and call him.

"Oye, Cuz. Call your guy that wanted to the Italian job and ask him if blue works."

 _"What are you talking about?"_ Miguel asked sharply.

"You're boy's special request is a honey trap. But I found a replacement if he wants it. Blue and she runs sweet. Though she might have a bullet hole or two."

Her cousin's diatribe in Spanish cut off after a few seconds. She knew it was because he was calling his contact.

"Whether his boy wants this girl or not, I'm still getting paid," Vincent purred, leaning toward her and running his hand up her thigh.

Furia grabbed his hand and twisted it awkwardly, making him yelp. When she released him, he yanked his hand back, cradling it against his chest.

"You'll get your money either way, but if you touch me again you'll walk with a limp and I'll have another set of balls to add to the brass ones on my mantle. Now sit back and shut up."

The phone beeped in her ear and she tagged the button on the earpiece. "What's the word?"

_"Bring it to me I'll hide it."_

"You can't _hide_ this Miguel, these bitches are built for attention."

_"Well, you're a sitting fuck duck in that thing."_

"I hear ya. He backed out, huh?" she asked as she skidded into a 180-degree turn on a dime. _God, this is a sweet ride_.

"What the hell are you doing?" Vincent asked when she pulled into the northbound lane and headed back the way they came.

"I told you to shut up, didn't I?" she replied with a harsh glare in his direction.

The psycho held his hands up in surrender.

_"What are you going to do?"_

"Take her for a swim."

"No!" Vincent yelled.

Once the freeway ended, Furia drifted into a 90-degree turn and stopped in the middle of the road. Pulling the pistol from under her sweatshirt, she pointed it at her cohort. "Get out."

"What about my money?"

"Your next question will be: what zip code are my testicles in? You did your part and you'll get your money. Now, get out of my car."

Giannino fumbled with the door and literally fell out onto the pavement. "Kisses, you crazy motherfucker. I'll call you in a day or two about your cut."

She lowered the door and sped off, crashing the nose of the vehicle through the gate leading to the aqueduct, which was thankfully dry. The smooth concrete just seemed to make the Italian sports car feel that much faster. She knew how many inlets there were to this path and counting the last one she pulled another sharp turn. The engine screamed as the driver down shifted.

Her heart ached over what she was about to do. But this was not the first car to meet this type of end by her hands or in this place. She steered into the parking lot and backed the car against the retaining wall, lining it up with the break in the wall on the water side.

Opening the door, she stuffed her phone, the headset, and her pistol in the bag Vinnie left in the sports car then dropped it a few feet from the car.

"Sorry, sweetie," Furia whispered as she revved the engine. "Just what I needed, more bruises for my bruises." She groaned as she sat up slowly.

The short space gave her very little time to get out of the car before it went through a well-used hole, which was why she opened the door beforehand. She dove from the creamy leather seat in time, but the tumble took a toll on her. As she crossed the parking lot, she limped slightly after ramming her knee into the pavement. Her phone started ringing before she got to her feet. She missed the first call, but the second immediate incoming call, made her hurry toward the bag.

"Dime."

 _"Get the fuck out of there,"_ Miguel yelled.

"Yeah, I'll hobble right the fuck on that."

_"¡Mierda!"_

"This would be the disadvantage to this being in the middle of nowhere," Furia replied, slinging the bag over her shoulder and awkwardly trying to jog toward the street. _Maybe there will be some teenagers on a joyride,_ she thought. _Or some lost idiot who has no idea to stay out of this section of the suburbs at this time of night_.

_"Stay off your phone. I'll call you back. I know some people on that side of town."_

"That will mean precisely fuck all in about two minutes, cabrón," Furia reported noticing the distant light of the approaching helicopter. "Call me if you find someone out here."

She ended the call and kept hobbling toward the overpass.

"Well, isn't this just fabulous."

Another set of lights drew her attention from the sky. This was not how she worked, usually, but nothing about that day had been particularly normal, that was for sure. _No reason for things to get regular now._ She pulled her pistol out of the bag and tried to remember what they hell Troy and Mikey told her.

The shot actually hit the car, and scared the driver into smacking a tree. Luckily they were not driving fast enough for it to matter. She punctured the airbag with a screwdriver from her pocket and pushed the barely conscious man across the bench seat of the truck.

She sped under the overpass before the helicopter passed overhead. The man started groaning in the passenger seat and she smacked him with the butt of her pistol. That was not something she needed right now. Screaming passengers tended to draw attention, which was not something she needed while the cops were screaming around a blacked out area looking for a car thief that had just ditched a whole lot of someone else's money in the river.

 _Come the fuck on Miguel._ Furia wracked her brain. She had family out here, but that was not going to happen. Showing up at anyone's house in this get up would create a situation she would much rather avoid. She answered the phone as soon as it started singing: _I get knocked down but I get up again._

 _Gotta love Chumbawamba_ , she thought as she tugged the device out of her pocket.

"Sí."

_"Hey! Just thought I should let you know. I think this hotel is full of cops."_

"Mikey, this is not the best time, man."

He was silent for a long moment. _"This car's a setup, huh?"_

"And you are smarter than your average bear," she replied, making a left to avoid an approaching set of flashing lights.

_"Where are you?"_

"Northside. Too far for you to do anything more than staying right the fuck where you are," Furia ordered.

_"Obviously. But Marco's got a place in that set of apartments south of the FB's out there."_

"Marco, huh?"

Mikey's laughter told her he heard the hesitance in her voice. _"I know it’s a tossup. Cops or Marco. Not sure which is worse. But at least he's one of us, though handcuffs might still come into play."_

"Yeah. Might be the only way to keep me from killing him. All right. Do me a favor? Call and find me a way in there. I need to lose this truck."

Furia drove around the curve that bordered the beach. She considered dropping the truck near the point there, but decided against it. At an intersection, she pulled the man down onto the seat to keep him from drawing unnecessary attention. She cruised south and decided that Brown Baggers looked like the perfect cover. Pulling into the strip mall, she parked a few spots down from the door of the liquor store. Climbing out, Furia dropped the keys right outside the door in the hopes that it might make the guy look like he was sleeping off a drunk. Of course, the big ass bruise on his temple would likely raise a few questions.

Furia jogged across the street and strolled toward the apartments like she knew what she was doing or where she was going. Her nerves became more frayed with every minute that went by without a phone call.

"¡Oye, mamí!"

The voice made her back tighten up as she stopped and looked for the man attached to the deep familiar trill.

"Come on up. Top floor," he said, before disappearing again.

With a sigh she followed. _¡Híjole! This is going to be a long night._


	16. Racing Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something irresistible about driving fast, especially in a car that's built to make a girl swoon. Learning about the Carnales race gives Furia an in she might not get the chance at again. But finding a car proves more trying than she anticipated, leaving her with one final option--Troy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Chy not only for proofing, but for helping me find just the perfect ringtone for Johnny, so that I could make this as traumatic as possible.

**16 Racing Thoughts**

**-1-**

The news report echoed through her head as Furia leaned forward against the kitchen counter listening to Jane Valderamma's haughty voice.

_Police speculate that the blackout might have been part of an elaborate plan to steal high end vehicles from a Foreign Power dealership located in the area. The thieves were thwarted by a crack team of security guards, though they did get away with one vehicle, which was found earlier this morning in water off the coast just off the north island. The apparent destruction of the vehicle raises some questions about the motives of the thieves. Some sources suggest it was a crime of retribution targeted at Joseph Price, a suspected high-level participant in Stilwater's underground street racing circuit._

"And this just keeps getting better and better."

When her cell phone rang she did not even have to look at the display, the ringtone told her who was calling. Setting specific tones not only amused her slightly, but it also made it easy to determine if she was even going to take her phone out of her pocket. As Kenny Loggins belted out, "Highway to the Danger Zone / Right into … the Danger Zone," to a screaming guitar, she knew this was a call she would take, if only to vent a little frustration.

"Johnny! What the fuck man? You couldn't warn me."

_"I didn't know. The kid just told me the right make and model. I didn't ask for all the vitals."_

"Chinatown won't even make up for this."

_"Chinatown? What the hell are you talking about?"_

"I had a meeting with Wong Sheng Tai. He's willing to work with us."

_"No shit?"_ Johnny crooned at her, obviously surprised.

"Yeah, decent percentage, too." _I think._

_"Nice,"_ he said with an obviously appreciative tone. _"Look, don't worry about Price thing too much. What I want to know is how you slipped their net on the fly?"_

"Psh. Let me tell you it was a thing of beauty," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I scared some idiot into hitting a tree. His airbag knocked him cold. I left him in a parking lot."

Johnny's rumbling laughter sounded genuinely amused. _"Jesus, Furia. You soloed under some kind of lucky star last night. Listen swing by the church later. I might have something for you."_

"I don't know about all that. Unless you want to be extra special apologetic," she joked.

_"How so?"_

"I need a car for a race tonight, and that--"

_"No."_

"But you're the one--"

_"No!"_ Johnny repeated with total finality. _"Ask Marco. He'd let you touch anything of his."_ His little rumbling laughter at the tease made her want to slap the blond right out of his hair.

"Fuck you, Gat."

_"Dean-O's got a nice piece, too."_

When she made no response he kept on suggesting, pausing between each to see if Furia bit, which she did not.

_"Thunder's got that Hammerhead."_

Another silent pause on his end went without a reply from hers, as she sulked. Her slightly pouted lip having absolutely no effect on the man on the other end of the line.

_"Yeah, probably right I hear it's all bark and no bite."_ She could hear his fingers tapping on something as he considered another suggestion. _"From what some of the guys say, Troy's little coupe doesn't look like much, but its hiding a big surprise under the hood."_

"Dean and Thunder already declined," Furia revealed tiredly, leaning on the counter.

_"Then its Marco or Troy. My guess is Troy will make you owe him a favor or two. Of course so might Marco, but I figure with Bradshaw it will just be grunt work rather than grunting work,"_ Gat said with a triumphant laugh that made her smile despite herself.

"You suck, Johnny."

_"Yes. Yes, I do. Speaking of which. Talk to you later."_

The phone went dead and Furia turned off the radio. It was looking more and more like Ginger's five minute allowance might be totally true. Sadly, as crude as the suggestion had been, Johnny's assessment of Marco's probable trade would likely be precisely along those lines. She had spent half of the previous night fighting off advances and rebuffing his flirtations. It was the reason she finally left, calling a cab despite the police presence on that side of town. Being alone with him on his own turf was not something she wanted to repeat and owing him anything was not in her game plan.

"How bad do you want onto that scene?" she asked herself as she surveyed her sparse living room.

The answer came easily and she grabbed the phone off the counter and called Peaches who confirmed that Troy was indeed at the church, as was his Bootlegger. Dressing quickly, Furia headed out. She walked a block south and tried to come up with an irresistible offer to try and convince him to trust her with his car. Thus far he would not even let her peek under the hood, let alone get behind the wheel. She had known guys that were protective of their cars, but he seemed stubbornly so. As the sunset painted the sky in vibrant oranges and reds, Furia whistled at one of the passing cabs, which screeched to a halt. After telling the driver where she was going, she tried to shake the feeling that convincing Troy to let her borrow his ride was going to be much harder than she thought.

 

**-2-**

The cold was biting and seemed to ooze from the stone in waves that just chilled a person to the bone. It wasn't so bad during the middle of day, but by three in the afternoon the chill would start radiating through the church again. Troy checked the time as he tapped the filter of his cigarette against the face of his watch a few times. The sky was darkening toward a deep purple though there were still pinks and peaches at the horizon.

He stopped and cupped a hand around the lighter as he lit his cigarette. The grating metallic pop drew his attention from the flame. When he saw the hood of his car held up, he knew exactly who it would be. _She's persistent. I'll give her that._ As he crossed the graveyard, his pace slowed. The sight was one he had seen before and hinted at the reason she was sneaking the peek he had thus far denied her access to.

What got him were the stilettos. She leaned forward, bracing her knee against his bumper. He had seen something like them before--shiny black patent leather with bright red soles. The skirt he could only describe as too short, way too short, he thought as she leaned a little farther under the hood, which prompted him to clear his throat when it tightened up on him.

"What is it with you and my car?" he asked, leaning against the cold stone to keep what seemed like an adequate distance from her.

At least it had felt like enough space before she spun. The smile she cast on him was sweetness tinged with enough seductive to make his head spin.

"What can I say? I have a soft spot for American muscle," she said with an innocent shrug that was anything but in the tight sweater that left her shoulders bare.

He tried not to read more into the statement but his mind ran away with him as he watched her turn and release the hood support before she gently closed it.

"So, why where you flirting with my car?" He could not help the little pang of envy that accompanied the smooth way she stroked the finish of the Bootlegger.

"Such a beautiful girl deserves all the attention she can handle."

"Uh, huh," he replied unconvinced, but intrigued. This woman tried his composure even without putting an effort into it, but right now he was not sure if this was incidental or intentional, or some squirrelly mix of both.

Furia leaned back against the hood and pressed her hands flat against the metal. "I was hoping you might let me borrow her?"

Taking a long drag on his cigarette, Bradshaw studied her face carefully. "For?"

"A little outing."

She was long and lean, and the way she reclined back just enough against his car seemed to only emphasize it. _God, she is trouble. The best kind of trouble,_ the rebellious side of his brain observed. He tried to hush that side, but, damn, if Furia did not make it difficult.

"Something that can get her impounded?" he asked, flicking the spent cigarette over the wall.

"Only if I get caught," she replied with a proud shift in her shoulders. "So, no."

Troy laughed. In his experience with her driving there was more truth to that statement than he really wanted to consider.

"There's a race in Black Bottom tonight."

"And you still don't have a car?" he asked in disbelief.

She shrugged one shoulder at him. "I've been a little busy lately."

"Why me?" That loaded question hung there in his head.

Furia crossed her arms, relaxing a little as she stared at him for a moment. "Truth. Dean-O and I just clash. Thunder's still sore about the nose. Even if he wasn't, his car, while great out of the gate, lacks stamina."

Troy swallowed at the tightness in his throat as he tried to stamp down the inferred innuendo floating through his head. "Marco's got what sweet little rice."

Furia rolled her eyes at him and straightened, letting her arms fall loose again. "I'd rather not go there."

He understood the sentiment. Marco seemed to be the one guy that did not seem to take her brother's threats seriously. The little derisive voice in the back of his head saw fit to remind him that Marco was not the only such culprit. With a deep sigh he finally said, "You cover any damage."

Her smile lit her entire face. "Of course."

Biting at his bottom lip, Troy dug his keys out of his pocket and dangled them at her. With a girlish giggle, she skipped over to him with too much excitement in her eyes as she gazed up at him and wrapped her hands around his keys.

"This is a onetime thing," he stated in an attempt to save his own sanity.

The pout was completely unfair. "How about like … five? That will give me time to find a car and get her ready."

"Three, and I'll even drive you to Herc's lot this week to see if you can't find something."

Those hazel eyes met his filled with the all the mischievousness contained in that coy smirk on her lips. "Deal."

"When's the race?" he asked, smiling in response to her excitement as he released the keys.

"A little over an hour." She took a few steps away. Her fingers skimmed the highly polished surface of the gloss as she walked along the driver's side, it made his spine tingle. "And I promise I'll fill her up before I bring her home."

"Good luck," he offered, leaning against the nose.

"Luck is for the unskilled."

Bradshaw did not fight the laughter. The way she looked at his car reminded him of the first time he had seen her with it, which led his rebellious mind to the first race he had been to with her.

"Listen. Is this the same kind of scene as that thing you ran for Lin?" The question was calculated. He knew it would be.

Another half hearted shrug. "Except that the territory is different."

"Yeah, and you'll be hanging out with the guy whose car you nicked and left in Rollerz territory."

The surprise on her face was almost worth it. "Paulie told you, didn't he?" she said with a trace of a glare.

"Does it matter? Given everything, do you really feel comfortable of going in there alone?"

Her eyes shifted to her fingertips that were playing at the gap of the edge of the hood. "They don't know it was us, let alone me."

"Not what I asked. You're comfortable walking into that sort of situation on your own?"

Troy was pushing, mainly because he was uncomfortable with the idea of her going alone, especially to a race in the factories. And it was not just because it was her; he would have asked the same question if Mikey or Paulie were the one asking for his keys to go alone into Carnales territory. At least he's 90% certain, that's how he would react. The way she would not look at him cinched it for him.

"I don't need a babysitter," she finally said, looking up at him sharply.

"Not saying you do. I was merely thinking you could use someone who'll have your back."

Her eyes did not leave his. "You really want to do this?"

There was something in the way she said it, like she could see all the things he should not be thinking; like she could see the strain of desire and obligation tearing and clawing at the façade that had become his life. In so many ways he wanted this, wanted her, while at the same time he didn't, couldn't, really shouldn't.

"Shouldn't be as bad as the last race. At least there'll be less explosions at least."

She grinned and walked toward the driver's side door. "You hope," Furia joked with a grin. "Get in the car, Troy."

 

**-3-**

On the ride to the southside, Furia realized she might have overthought her approach once again. In the cab on the way to the church she convinced herself she was facing an impossible task, but in reality he had been much more accomdating than she ever expected. Pulling off the road, she followed the directions Ekaterina had given her earlier and quickly found the gathering that brimmed with red and gold. There were a few smatterings of blue here and there; probably the hardcore racers that did not care whose turf they raced on as long as they could get behind the wheel.

In that crowd, she found herself suddenly thankful that Troy volunteered to come along. Black Bottom was dark and dank, though there was one saving grace--the stench from the plants overpowered that of the water. But in the dirt yard of an abandoned concrete plant the overwhelming scent that night was fuel and liquor mixed with just a hint of acrid rubber. The music spiced the air with its own heady beat that pulsed below the din of conversation and the occasional engine rev from someone wanting to show off their baby's roar. It was too much like the whole display in the suburbs, even down to the innuendo and pointing out of the new blood.

"Oye, Chiquita. You need someone to show you how to pop that clutch? I'm your man," a little guy in red called across to her, thumping his chest twice as he leaned on the hood of an all too familiar Cavallaro.

_Can't believe he got it back that fast_ , she thought absently.

"Good money says that even on her own, she can handle that better than you could Pedro," Troy bit back as he exited the car.

"Son of a bitch. I should have recognized that tired old Bootlegger," Vu said with a chuckle that prompted the gaggle around him to laugh as well.

"Been a while, man. Last I saw you had to be …" Troy tilted his head, looking upwards for a moment, before casting a serious look back on the Carnales lieutenant. "Oh yeah, when you were choking on my dust in that quarter mile out in the Barrio."

"That was ages ago, cabrón. And we both know that wasn't my ride."

Troy shrugged as he rounded his black coupe, moving toward Furia. "Always full of excuses, aren't you, Pedro?"

"Whatever, homes," Vu dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Doesn't change the facts. That your whip is still as worn out as a two-dollar whore during Fleet Week. And I don't think Legs there is going to be able to do a damn thing for that car, though she would make an impressive hood ornament."

"You have no idea," Bradshaw agreed with a too convincing chuckle as he sidled up to her.

When his hand rested on the small of her back for a moment before sliding around her waist, a vibrant flutter radiated through her body. From time to time, she thought about the game they played at the last race: the touching, the flirting, the almost too convincing way he looked at her. She bit the inside of her cheek hard trying to remind herself about her silly little ban, it seemed easier to stick to when he was out of sight and mostly out of mind.

With a quick breath she steeled her nerves and turned toward him, whispering into his ear as she spoke. "Now who's laying it on thick?" she asked with a sly smile.

"Hey, I was just following your example from the last time."

His grin was relaxed and playful--almost too dangerous, like looking directly into the sun, sure, it was radiant and enlightening but it could blind you. And that was something she could not afford.

"Sounds like a little more than that," she suggested as she leaned away slightly.

Troy tilted his head to the side and frowned a little, moving back toward her to keep the conversation between them. "You could say, Pedro and I have … met."

"Uh, huh. That much is obvious" Furia's curiosity begged to know the details of this shocking turn of events, but she decided to just play along, as distracting as she knew it was going to be. "Want a beer?"

"Sure."

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Bradshaw, light a cigarette and walk over to Vu. The two were talking and laughing about something; and she really wanted to know what.

"Your viejo's kinda hot, for being so … bland."

Furia looked to her left, eyebrow lifted slightly at the bold assessment. A much shorter woman blinked up at her with dark brown eyes almost the same shade as her hair. Once Furia acknowledged her, the woman's gaze returned to the men standing beside the big black Cavallaro talking more civilly than they had moments ago.

"I keep trying to convince Pedro to try a goatee, or at least a mustache. I bet it tickles in the most amazing way, right?" The woman asked, leaning toward her conspiratorially.

Furia choked on the mouthful of water she just started to swallow when the other woman looked over at her expecting an actual answer to the question. The brunette's laughter tinkled on the breeze as she took the raven-haired woman's reaction for confirmation. It was a question that had shockingly never trotted through Furia's mind and suddenly she wondered if she would ever be able to look at Troy again without remembering this conversation and wondering about the answer herself.

"That good, huh? Definitely going to have to get Pedro to try it, even if only just once."

"Offer a trade. Or make a threat. Deny him something he really enjoys," Furia suggested with a tip of her head.

"That last one might do the trick. I'm Ana, by the way," she said, holding out her hand.

"Furia."

"Really?" Ana eyed her, leaning back and taking a very long look at the young woman. "Miguel's cousin, no?"

"Sip[i]." Confirming that fact made her feel a touch worried. At first she thought Ana's reaction was merely to the moniker, not some facet of recognition.

"Pedro, ella es la prima de Miguel[ii]. Furia," she called across the field.

Vu was not the only person whose attention was drawn by that statement. Pedro straightened, slapping Troy on the chest with the back of his hand in a way that seemed overly congratulatory.

"No, shit. That's the little chili pepper he's always talking about?" The man in red slipped his arm over the Saint's shoulder, leaning toward him and gesturing at Furia with his beer bottle. "I might have been wrong. That is probably the one person who can do something with that heap of yours, if her cousin's praise is even half deserved."

"If?" Furia crooned, handing the cold bottle to Troy as the two women joined the pair.

Pedro laughed and smiled widely. "No offense, Chiquita. But family is not the most reliable source for accurate information. They tend to dote"

Careful not to lean against anyone else's car, which she knew was considered bad form, Furia eyed Vu in a measuring way. "And have you ever known Miguel to be anything other than painfully honest?"

With a small nod, Pedro tilted his head to the side and he let his eyes linger on her again. "Maybe," he conceded finally. "But I guess we'll find out later tonight, won't we?"

"You know it."

"It's a two grand buy in. Unless, of course, your man here finally wants to put up those papers. Then we could make this a little more fun."

"Eres Lindo[iii]," Furia said. The statement made Ana a bit clingy and the girl slipped her arm around Pedro's waist, although the taller woman meant the backhanded compliment more derisively than flirtatiously. "I'd rather take your money, though."

Troy nodded his agreement as he sipped his beer; his head turning slowly as he studied the crowd.

"No sense of adventure," the Carnales lieutenant chided.

"If I didn't know better, Pedro, I'd think you were trying to take advantage of a first timer," she cooed, being a little freer than she might have if not for Troy's presence or his arm around her.

The man in red laughed. "¡Vale, lo que quieras, Chiquita[iv]!"

Troy leaned a little closer to her, pulling her against him in a calculated display meant for a particular audience and to achieve a specific purpose, she knew. Despite that, his proximity merely heightened her anxiety. The slight sense of comfort offered by having one of her own with her was nearly entirely wiped away with the weight of his hand on her waist. His breath at her ear had her pulse racing at a near dizzying pace again.

"You good?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said, turning toward him. When her eyes met his, her mind was stripping through gears trying to find a way to slow down. She swallowed back the lump choking her. "I'll be right back."

_You're a complete and utter idiot, Furia. You just keep playing with fire. And yet again you'll end up burned through to the core and singed around the edges for good measure when this all crashes and burns around you._ She slipped into the front seat of the Bootlegger and pulled the two stacks from the bag. Furia knew there would be a buy in for the race and she knew from Miguel's ramblings over the last year that it tended toward the steep side of things even when the stakes were considered low.

Taking a deep breath she leaned back in the seat and glanced in the mirror. She could still see the flush on her cheeks. Part of her hoped people, including Troy, would chalk it up to the chill in the air. "You should have called Memo," she muttered, rubbing her hand over her forehead.

"Should have called Memo for what?"

"Christ." Startled, she shifted farther into the car. Taking a deep breath, she looked up and saw him leaning casually on the roof in the open car door. _He has to see it_. She was sure there was no way anyone could miss how flustered Troy had her, even him. Sometimes he seemed so oblivious to it; it made her wonder if Bradshaw did it just for sport.

"To let him know what I was doing. If he or Miguel find out from one of these idiots," she said, shaking her head in part to clear it, "I'll have to listen to them whine about it for weeks."

Troy tugged his phone out of his pocket. When she reached for it, he pulled it back and sank to a crouch so that in that moment she loomed over him. She could tell he had something to say.

"I can back off," he offered, toying with the device in his hands as he looked up at her.

She slid toward him slightly. As much as the sane part of her could have used precisely that, there was a completely certifiable side of her that wanted his attention, even it if was feigned.

"If you do, the vultures will descend."

He looked up at her and nodded. "And we wouldn't want that," Troy said with a heated grin that made her cheeks burn.

"Not in the least."

Holding the phone between them, he cast an expectant glance at her. Furia shook her head. "Probably better that he doesn't know I'm here or doing this. Any of it," she confided. "Don't think he would be too pleased across the board."

"He does seem to have an overdeveloped protective streak." Troy stood and held his hand out to her.

Furia scooted forward, setting her hand in his before she stood. Her body grazed his as she shimmied out of the way to close the door. "Under the circumstances, it seems wholly justifiable, if not incredibly irritating."

Convincing herself he was just too good at his role, she spun and sauntered back to Vu, who it turned out was the man holding the money that night. Once she handed off her fee, Furia tried not to think too hard about the warm body she leaned up against or the way his hand splayed over the front of her hip with his thumb tucked comfortably in the waist of her skirt. She even managed to mostly push him and everything he stirred up to the back of her mind while they socialized with Vu and some of his people, at least until he set his chin on her shoulder. The tickle against her bare skin invariably brought Ana's question rushing back to her mind with the ferociousness of a big cat on the hunt.

Furia could feel her body tense whenever their exhibition seemed to overwhelm her. Sometimes Troy would lean away, offering her a moment to breathe; other times she would feel his arm tighten around her and his warm hand would press her more solidly against him, making her a little breathless. It was equal parts comforting and frustrating. It was like walking on a knife's edge for a half an hour.

The bass pounded through the cold air as tequila and beer flowed freely. There were supped up beauties all over, mechanical and masterpieces of flesh as well. The race bunnies were plentiful and seemed oblivious to the cold as they strolled, lounged, and gyrated to the distinctively Latin rhythms. There were groups sporting red and gold challenging one another to dance battles. It was like a big block party. It would have been fun, except she could not help but feel like a masochist watching the show around them from her vantage point snuggled up against a man she had no business with. After subjecting herself to that brand of torture, tempting herself with the very thing she should not want, and could not have. The tension of the race seemed like a chance to relax by comparison.

 

**-4-**

Troy felt way too comfortable with her weight against him. It was the first time in weeks that the vortex around him calmed enough for him to find a second of stillness, of course he also knew he should not be indulging in it. He could feel the tension in her, and he could not be certain if it was nerves about the race or if he was the one pushing too far this time around. Selfishly, he did not even mind the delay that had the crowd waiting to hear the all clear.

When Pedro slipped out of the grip of the tiny brunette that had her hand moving under his shirt most of the evening, Troy shifted slightly and finished off his beer.

"You ready for this?" he whispered into her hair.

The confident little grin she cast over her shoulder at him made him laugh. "Oh yeah. This I've got. No problem," she said, her tone on the suggestive side, as she straightened.

He missed the pressure of her against him, and the tranquillity her proximity seemed to inspire. It was a completely selfish gratification and he knew it; he also knew it was completely unfair to be so relaxed with her clearly wound as tight as a coil spring. Reluctantly, he tucked his hand into his pocket, watching her walk back to his car while several others moved toward their rides.

"You're not going to wish that sweet drop of honey luck, Bradshaw?" Vu asked as Troy tapped a cigarette out of the pack he fished from his pocket.

Setting it between his lips and lighting it, the auburn-haired man eyed the shorter mutt of a man as he exhaled a smooth stream of smoke. "Furia's got skill. She doesn't believe in luck."

His eyes diverted to the woman who had stopped when she heard Vu's taunt.

"A little luck never hurt anyone," she said in a way that made Troy's mind stall and sputter as she walked back toward him.

Her fingertip blazed a trail down his neck and along his chest before catching the first button of his shirt. His body moved with the gentle yet demanding little tug she gave the fabric. The kiss shocked him, and in his opinion it was too damn short to boot. Trying to get his synapses to fire again, he stared at her as she strutted toward his Bootlegger, the sway in her hips seemingly magnified by the way that skirt moved with each step.

"¡Demonios, cabrón! How the hell did you end up with her?" Pedro asked when she cast a glance over her shoulder at him. Both men stared after her, each stunned to varying degrees and for their own reasons.

"Who the fuck knows?" Troy replied still reeling. With no clue what just happened, he just stood there with the Los Carnales race organizer as both laughed over Bradshaw's overly truthful response and watching her until she slid into the driver's seat.

"Come on. You'll love the view I've got planned." The man in red slapped the taller man in purple on the chest again.

As the cars moved to line up, much of the crowd was making its way through the building's stairwells. Troy, Vu, and several others used the fire escape and were at the edge of the roof when the cars reached the line.

"Nice, huh?"

Troy nodded.

Vu mirrored the action with a wide gesture of his hand. "You can see the whole course from up here."

A mountain of a man walked up to Vu and handed him a little radio, Troy took careful notice of the large .44 Shepard the man wore under his open silk shirt. Pedro looked down at the radio for a moment, toying with the volume control.

"What do you say we make this more interesting, like old times?" he asked, his eyes shifting to Bradshaw.

Troy took a long drag on his cigarette. "What do you have in mind?"

"Since you won't put up papers, how about we just call it five large?" There was a clear dare in Pedro's eyes, but Troy knew this was not about money.

"That's all. I was expecting something more decadent from you, Vu," the undercover cop replied, flicking ash off the stick in his hands.

"Normally I would," the LC lieutenant admitted staring at the starting line. "But something tells me that one would shoot us both."

Troy laughed. It was completely accurate. "And that is only if she was feeling generous."

It was Vu who chuckled at that one. "What do you say? Five on the side."

The former Boy Scout was ever prepared, even for things like this. He slipped his hand in his pocket and slapped a stack of cash in Pedro's hand. "You can count it, if you like."

"No need. I know you're smarter than to short me."

"Just remember that politeness after I take your money. She's going to eat your boys for lunch."

"We'll see," Vu said in a way that made the hair standup on the back of Troy's neck.

Suddenly Bradshaw found himself in yet another instance where he really wished he had taken the time to learn Spanish. His capacity for languages was horrible; there were times when it seemed that even English escaped his grasp, although admittedly those occurrences had one singular impetus, which was currently sitting in his car. The deep rumble seemed to hang in the air as the four drivers revved their responses to the ready. Tires screamed against the asphalt as the cars shot off the line. Furia managed to slip past the two in the center and she and a blue Vegas ran neck and neck toward the first turn.

Part of him was glad to not be in the car with her this time around. Of course, this go, they weren't blowing up engines, just taking some money out of LC pockets.

"It looks like he might be too much for your girl," Vu said as the driver of the blue pony car seemed to have her number.

"You might think so, but she'll race him all the way to the line. Hope he's more ready for that than you were."

Vu looked at him sharply, recalling the implication. It was the same way Troy had beaten Pedro a few years earlier when he won the slip to the Bootlegger in the first place. The LC thought he had the cop beat, but Troy was not willing to go out. He managed to barely eek that little Voxel of his past Vu's nose and walked off that night with Pedro's keys. And since then, anytime he and Vu met on the street it could turn ugly in a second, though usually it went the way it was going tonight--a lot of dick waving and trying to one up each other.

An involuntary smirk curved Troy's mouth when the pair took the last turn. The LC kid missed it, slide wide, and like Bradshaw knew she would, Furia took advantage of the mistake. When they crossed the line, she had almost an entire car length on the kid.

"Jueputa[v]!" Vu spat before continuing into a diatribe that sounded almost as angry as when Bradshaw won his car.

"I told you she had skill."

Vu seemed to growl at that. "The luck might have helped a little too. You always were one who had a knack for holding aces," the angry little man said as he returned Troy's stack twice as heavy. Pedro held onto his hand and leaned toward the taller man, speaking into his shoulder. "She almost drives better than she looks. But I'm sure you already know that."

Troy knew it, in the most innocent sense, which was not the one Vu implied. Despite that, he just nodded and tucked the winnings away. The group climbed down from the roof as the cars pulled back to the gathering point. The blue Vegas made a show of power sliding into his spot, kicking dust and gravel up. When he hopped out of his car, yelling at the top of his lungs, several people moved toward the ruckus, including the two lieutenants of rival gangs.

"Who the hell is this pendeja anyway? She's not LC. She shouldn't even be in this race."

"¡Cierra el puto hocico! Putita llorona[vi]," Vu yelled ,crossing the space with a purpose as people moved out of his way. Troy was on his heels, though, where the Carnales lieutenant walked over to the pissed off driver and smacked him on the back of his shaved head, the Saints' second crossed to the woman who had won the race.

"You pay. You drive. She paid. She drove. And she kicked your ass because you lost control of your turn, Coño," Pedro said at the top of his voice as if daring anyone else to say anything.

"Chiquita," he called, gesturing at Furia. He pulled the entry fees out of his pocket and made a show of shaking the collection of bills so that everyone could see. "Nicely done. Next time it won't be so easy."

"I expect not," she replied with a kittenish little smirk.

Pedro leaned toward her and said something that made her shake her head and smile at him. He shrugged at her and handed over the cash she had won. Then pulled a little card out of his pocket, holding it out to her as he spoke lowly; Troy knew what it was. It was Pedro's throw away number, which changed regularly but at varying intervals to keep the cops on their toes. It was how he announced races and conducted other business.

Furia wore her excitement clearly on her face as she walked back toward Troy. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," she said as she closed on him. He was a little surprised when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him tightly. He greedily returned the gesture slipping one arm around her waist.

"I have a surprise for you," he whispered into her hair.

She leaned back, her hands still clasped behind his neck. "Do tell."

"Pedro and I put a little something on the side." He produced Pedro's portion of the bet and held it between them. "Figured since you did the work, the spoils are yours."

"Might be a little too generous there, jefe."

Troy shrugged. "All I did was let him hold my money for a few minutes."

"And loaned me your car."

"Which you still owe me for."

Furia smiled coyly at him. "I'm aware."

Staring at her, he let his hand roam up her back slowly. As he fought with his desire to correct that earlier kiss, several radios squawked to life with the most dreaded of warnings. "Cops. Cops. Cops."

They separated instantly and he pushed her toward the driver's side of his car. The dirt lot emptied quickly as cars moved in all directions. The sirens were closing on the spot as she steered the car south toward the docks.

"Where are you going? The Row is the other way," Troy said, glancing behind them as a flood of red and blue lights poured into the still emptying section of the factories district.

"Yeah and so are most of the cops." She took a right onto a long straight road and looked over at him. "Trust me. I promised I wouldn't get her impounded. And I keep my promises."

The lights flashed in front of them and she veered left as the approaching patrol car skidded to block the street. There was a sting she could not know that accompanied what she said. It made him feel even guiltier about his foolish indulgence at the race gathering. She skimmed the factory district, losing the cops in the Barrio after a little bit of a chase.

Slowing down, Furia tried to keep any attention grabbing action to a minimum. Squealing tires and the sudden flash of lights pulled her back out of that innocuous state. Troy was convinced one of the cops she had lost must have pulled the plates. She shifted into fifth as she hit the long straight road that skimmed the water's edge south of Chinatown.

The phone fell into his lap as she put her hand back on the wheel. "Call Javier, and put it on speaker."

It rang four times before he picked up. _"What the fuck, Furia?"_

"Want to drop one of those favors you owe me?"

_"Like a bad habit. What's going on? Why do I hear sirens?"_

Furia grinned. "Same old stuff really. Berries broke up a race, and they are being somewhat persistent."

_"¡Chingada, chica! How do you get into this shit?"_ Javier asked with clear exasperation that Troy could second.

"It's a talent really. It takes real skill to fuck up everything this spectacularly," Furia explained as she veered around several cars before heading eastbound again, back toward Chinatown. "So if you're done with the interrogation. I need a place to stash a very hot car, far from the Row."

_"Give me two minutes and I'll text you the address."_

Troy set the phone in the little cup holder in the center arm rest. "One thing about Javier." She winced as the Bootlegger fishtailed a little on the turn and smacked into parked Compton. "Damn. Sorry," she said with an apologetic shrug.

"Yeah well, you get us out of this and I might call it even," he replied.

"That's a given."

"That remains to be seen."

She glared at him with a playful smile that took any sharpness out of the glance.

When the phone vibrated and voiced its incoming message, he pulled up the text and held it out to her. "Interesting," she said, shrugging one shoulder.

"What's interesting?"

"Oh, just that the guy that owns that particular building must not know it's me," she replied.

"What makes you say that?"

She laughed shortly. "If he did, we'd be out in the cold. Fuck, he'd probably call the cops himself."

"You willing to take that chance?" Troy asked with a trace of concern. A second text came in before she could answer. "Javier says it will be open and empty and to just lock up when you leave."

"Yeah, because I'm going to walk halfway across town in stilettos again," she mumbled.

As they approached the warehouse in Copperton, she kept to alleys and side streets trying to avoid any possible confrontation with the cops. Furia stopped the car and hopped out tagging the control for the door. When Troy reached to shut off the ignition, so did she.

"Told you I'd keep her out of impound."

Troy smiled. "And like _I_ said, that remains to be seen."

"What is with you guys and the lack of faith in my brilliance?" she asked, turning in the seat and facing him as he leaned on the arm rest.

"Brilliance, huh? We're hiding out in the warehouse of a guy who would turn you in."

She shrugged. "Okay, so that part is not perfect. But I did pretty fair with the rest."

"Yeah, you did," Troy agreed.

As she inched toward him, he knew he should mirror it and keep whatever sparse distance he could muster in that tight space. This time, when her lips met his, the kiss was neither short, nor quite as controlled as the one prior to the race. He brought his hands up quickly, holding her face in both in some subconscious attempt to keep her close, not that she tried to pull away.

Uncertain if it was prompted by the adrenaline or denial, the kiss deepened quickly. The first time it broke was when she tried to slide toward him. Troy's hands left her only long enough to throw the armrest into the up position before her mouth met his again. Every once and a while that voice would pester him, whispering all the reasons his hands should not be tangled in her hair or sliding up her thigh. Of course, Furia always managed to find a way to quiet it--her tongue gliding against his, fingernails skimming his neck lightly, but what finally silenced it completely was when she bit his lip sharply before straddling him, sitting back on his lap.

Their heavy breathing and the faint noise of freeway traffic in the distance echoed through the car and the empty building beyond. The heat and feel of her intoxicated him, anchored him in the moment. As his lips pressed a trail down her neck, he inhaled deeply, savoring the warm spiced scent on her skin. When she pulled away, he studied her. A slight flush brightened her cheeks and her breath came in shallow gasps through temptingly parted lips. Her gaze bore into his like she was looking for an answer to some question she refused to voice. _Or maybe that's just me_ , he thought.

For that moment Troy gave up the futile fight, instead choosing to selfishly succumb to whatever was happening in that dimly lit blackhole in the center of Stilwater. It was as if in that place, at that moment, nothing existed beyond that car. And he was perfectly content in that isolated space.

 

**-5-**

Furia squeezed at his shoulders as he kissed a trail down her throat and onto her chest, but she redirected his mouth to hers before he travelled too far. Then she turned the tables; her teeth nipped down his jugular, while his hands skimmed her thighs lightly. The scent of his aftershave prompted her deep inhale as Furia skimmed the tip of her nose back along the length of his neck. Her mouth closed over his earlobe and she bit it gently. The tempting little groan made her breath hitch and he nipped at the base of her neck, sucking at the spot softly.

When her hand pushed through his hair, his head tilted into the touch as his eyes closed. Her other hand followed, leaving her fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. When her lips grazed his again, Troy pulled at her waist, one hand splaying over her back, trying to pull her closer. She chose not to think, not to dwell on the speculation of what anyone would think or how they would react.

Even if she shouldn't, Furia wanted to disappear into that decadent space.  Just stay there and be the antithesis of herself, indulging in what she wanted rather than being the one who did what needed to be done.

His hand was warm on her back as it slipped beneath her top. Her sigh echoed in the quiet for a moment before it was overpowered by Kenny Loggins. In an instant the serenity crashed around her falling to the riffs of an electric guitar accompanying the final chorus of _Danger Zone_.

"Damnit Johnny," she groaned, reaching for the bag on the floor, but her phone wasn't there. "Where the hell is it?"

Furia climbed off Troy's lap. _Sounds like its … There it is_ , she dove over the seat, stretching for the phone that taunted her from the backseat.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying … to … reach my phone."

Suddenly he was beside her, and there was a tug at the hem of her skirt. "Here, let me."

Rather than letting her move out of the way, he leaned past her. When her hip shifted against him, as she tried to slip out of the way, he fell back into the passenger seat holding her phone out to her.

"What do you need, Johnny?" she asked, staring at Troy. _And, goddamn, this better be good._

She could see it in Troy, feel it in herself, the intrusion of reality cracking the little bubble that had seemed to form in the tiny space. The bubble that had temporarily allowed her to just do what she wanted popped into sharp tiny pieces.

_"It's not what I need. Lin wants a meet. Tomorrow morning at the Red Blossom Tea House on--"_

"I know it," she replied with a long sigh, turning in the seat and leaning her elbow on the door to allow her to cradle her forehead. "What time?"

_"She said ten. Hey. Are you okay?"_

"Yeah." _Just fucking peachy_ , she thought, hazarding a glance to her left just as Troy opened the door and climbed out of the car. _Absolutely stellar._

_"Look, she said to warn you about how much she hates when people are late."_

"I got it. Tea House at ten and don't be late. I think I can handle that." Even she could hear the tension in her voice.

_"And Eash was wondering--"_

"Sure. Have her text me a time and place. I'll make it work." _Because that's what I do_ , she thought with a note of irritation with herself as well as the intrusion.

_"Cool,"_ Johnny replied evenly.

Despite the tone she could hear it in his voice. This conversation was going to come up again. And she was going to need a reason for her shortness other than the truth. Furia doubted that revealing precisely what he had interrupted would go over well. She pushed the door open and took two steps stopping at the worktable that held the controls for the door.

"Anything else I miss?" she asked the man on the other end of the line.

_"Nah."_

"Take it easy."

_"Shit! You know me. Try not to get into too much trouble."_

"Whatever," Furia chuckled. _Too late._

 

[i] Sip: slang for Sí, yes. Kind of like Yep.

[ii] Ella es la prima de Miguel: This is Miguel's cousin

[iii] Eres Lindo: You're cute

[iv] Vale, lo que quieras, Chiquita: OK whatever you want, Little One.

[v] Jueputa: shortened version of son of a bitch (can be offensive, used to signal surprise, or relief)

[vi] Shut your fucking mouth! Whiny bitch.


	17. Changing Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lin lets Furia in on a possible plan to force an in with the Rollerz. Aisha tries to ply a little influence over Furia. And Dean-O gets the 21st birthday of his dreams at the Candy Store. *nsfw*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Chy, not only for the careful read, but for reminding me that Johnny "can't drive stick." Got to love when you forget the little things.

**17 Changing Plans**

**-1-**

The buzzer rang furiously a third time as the she yanked her jeans up and darted over to the intercom. Bouncing her shoulder off the wall, Furia hit the button. "Chingate, Mikey. Chill with the button, man."

"Sorry," he replied quickly. "Thought you might still be asleep."

"What are you talking about? You know what? Never mind. Be down in two."

As she passed the mirror she stopped and looked at her face, the little pink line was about all that remained to remind her of one colossal fuck up but when she took a second she noticed a sign of a second bad call. It was faint, but it was noticeable, right at the base of her neck just above her collarbone. The stream of Spanish curses poured from her lips as she pulled the off the shoulder shirt over her head. Several drawers opened as the muttering and random gesturing continued while she lectured herself. Finally finding something that would camouflage the only real evidence of her misstep the previous night, she tugged on the sleeveless turtleneck  and shook her head as she pulled her hair loose from the high collar.

"Stupid, girl," she told her reflection as she grabbed a beat up leather jacket and headed for the door.

Mikey leaned against his hood and when she pulled the door open, he tapped his finger on his watch face. "Thought you said two minutes."

"There was a stain on my blouse. Had to change it real quick," she said as she locked the door and stuffed her key ring in her pocket. "Keys. I'm driving."

He tossed them to her without argument. _Of course the one accommodating guy would be the one with a car that can't run_. She shook the thought from her head, trying to push last night's debacle far from her mind, but nothing she had tried so far had worked.

After Johnny's call burst the bubble the two of them fell into, things went all sideways. They spent another hour in complete silence, her hiding in the office being nosy about Phil's business interests, while Troy paced the far end of the garage chain smoking his way through a pack of cigarettes. Every once and a while she caught sight of him, but mostly all she saw was the flame of his lighter or the cherry on the tip of his cigarette.

"So ,what's on tap?" Mikey asked expectantly. "Hey, you all right?" He looked at her curiously, she guessed because they were still sitting there with the car off.

Furia shook her head. "Yeah fine. Have to stop back in Chinatown."

"To see the big guy?"

"No. Something else entirely. But you are going to go talk to Keith for me," she said, shifting in her seat. She pulled a neatly folded and rubber banded stack of cash out of her back pocket. "You get to meet Keith. That's all his. He knows what I need. You don't need to say anything to him. Do not ask him what he is giving you, though beyond business you can be as sociable as you want. Though I'll warn you, he can be clingy."

Mikey laughed. "Yeah, I don't think I'll have to worry too much about that myself," he replied with a smirk. "So let me ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"That thing at the Hapton was a setup, huh?"

"The Attrazione in the long term lot? Yeah. Totally. She had more eyes on her than a stripper at Turbulence."

"Not what I was talking about," Mikey replied.

Furia tried to bite back the smile. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yeah, right," he said with a dismissive tone. "So, you didn't tell Peaches where to find me?"

"Oh, I did," the driver admitted as she pulled through the gate that separated Chinatown from the apartments. "She asked if I knew where you were I told her I had yoo watching a honey trap at the airport. Why?"

"You seriously don't know more than that?"

When she slowed for the red light, she looked over at him. "I don't need to know more than that. She asked. I figured after our little conversation that you would not mind if I told her where she could find you. If I was mistaken--"

"No. You weren't. I just thought you were setting me up."

"How so?" Furia asked once they were moving again.

"Well, you suggested I go out with her and the rest of the girls to that club. Then she showed up at the hotel, so I thought you were trying to get us together."

"Not my style. I'll encourage and maybe poke you in the right direction, but that's about it," she said. "Plus maybe you can take her to that place you mentioned and find her some matching purple boots and you can both be Spice Girls."

Mikey just laughed.

"How'd it go by the way?"

"What?"

Furia rolled her eyes and shook her head at him. "Her stopping by?"

His sweet little smile said it all. "She brought Italian. And I kind of forgot to keep an eye on that car. At least until the siren and light show started in the parking lot."

"It's all good," she said with a shrug. "I only didn't tell you because I wanted you to get used to the boring parts. Plus I was pretty sure that car was a trick before we got anywhere near that place."

"Was that thing with Price's car you?" he asked.

Furia groaned, which set Mikey into hysterics.

"Why the hell did you drive it into the river?"

"Because it was hot as fuck, and those things are not easy to hide, ever, even when you have someone on the hook for them it is still a crap shoot. So when Miguel's buyer got cold feet, _after_ I broke it out, there was one option left."

"Man," the kid mused. "That sucks. Those are some beautiful cars. You would figure they would be easy to move."

"Not really, they are actually usually really specialty orders. And the people that want them go the extra mile to get them. They are not your usual snatch and grab. Most of the time you can make more off stripping them than shipping them," she lectured absently, glad to have something finally to occupy her mind.

"Are you trying for another one?" he asked. "Is that why I'm meeting Keith?"

"No. You are meeting Keith, because, if you are going to do this, you need to make friends with people who can get you the information on the cars you are looking for. If you want to make money at this, you can't just steal whatever, you fill demand. It's like any business. You get the people what they want, they pay more for it. Randomly stealing cars will get you pinched. Stealing them for joyriding will get you noticed, which will probably get you pinched. Hell, to a point even stealing them for business can get you screwed, if you aren't careful."

"Yes, Obi-Wan."

His response cracked Furia up and she slapped him on the shoulder.

"What? You're too tall to be Yoda. Plus seems more appropriate for Dex given the ears."

"Damnit, Mikey," she replied laughing.

"Sorry. I'll behave, Teach."

"No it's cool man. But one little tip. Get yourself a decent pair of driving gloves--thin leather and always full hand. You do not want to leave prints if you can avoid it. Samson carries exactly what you need. You want them to be snug, but not tight, and never loose," she explained as she pulled the car over around the corner from the Red Blossom.

She got out and they traded places.

"Where am I meeting the geek?" he asked, leaning on the roof of the car.

"Same coffee shop."

"Really? Doesn't that seem a little unsafe? Predictable?"

"He's the king of jumpy. Very much a creature of habit you could say. So, yeah, it is a little troublesome, but he's very particular. If his information weren't the best in town then I wouldn't deal with it."

"Guess I see the risk then."

"Yep. From time to time the payoff is worth it," she said, offering him a quick wave as she strolled up the street, slipping on the black leather jacket.

 

**-2-**

Lin paced in the kitchen of the tea house like a caged tiger. Her cigarette, clutched tightly between her fingers, moved to and from her mouth more often than normal because of the tension. Things on her side of the fence seemed to be going about as smoothly as Johnny's work with the Vice Kings. None of the guys would trust her to touch their cars; they were still convinced that someone else must have tuned her car, because having tits somehow precluded her from being mechanically inclined. Even taking them down in races and picking up slips from the younger drivers did not seem to have any effect. She needed something to shake it up, and she hoped she might have the perfect thing.

"Miss Lin." The delicate voice pulled the undercover Saint out of her own head. "Your friend is here."

"Thanks, Mei," she said with a little bow of her head.

Lin entered the private room via the kitchen entrance. She did not want to take the chance that someone would see either of them in there, separately, let alone together.

"How ya been?" the Chinese woman asked by way of greeting.

Furia shrugged. "Fair enough."

"Not from what I hear."

The glance the other woman cast across the table was cautious and pointed. "And what do you hear?"

Lin ignored the little hint of a nervous waver in the other woman's voice, chalking it up to the way this was all playing out--her going through Johnny and the two of them hiding out in one of Wong's back rooms.

"Well," Lin started, pouring two cups of tea from the pot Mei had left before she announced the Latina's arrival. "Some Rollerz were in Black Bottom last night. Said Miguel's cousin turned some wicked moves … in a tired old Bootlegger of all things." With the last part of the statement, Lin watched the other woman closely.

"Yeah, well, borrowed wheels are better than none at all."

"Bradshaw let you touch his car?"

"I thought about stealing it, but decided to play the sympathy card instead."

Lin shook her head. "Jesus, he really is slipping."

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," Lin replied, shaking her head. "Did one of the Carnales go after you once you beat him?"

"If you mean did he get all butt-hurt because he can't drive? Yeah."

She nodded slowly. "That might just do the trick. I can beat Westside drivers all day and it means shit. Because I'm wearing blue, too. However, if someone, say you, flagged in purple started taking their money and their keys, and I were to beat you. That might actually mean something."

"You asking me to throw a race?" Furia said in an incredibly revealing tone.

"Not at first, and maybe not at all. But if push comes to shove, yeah. You're going to let me win."

Lin smiled as she watched the other woman shift uncomfortably. The idea would not sit well with her either if someone presented it to her, so she understood Furia's discomfort with the idea.

"Look. I get it. We drive because it is what we love. Doesn’t matter if it is a rundown piece of shit with the wheels falling off or a specialty tuned racer, you and I would rather be driving than anything else."

"And?"

"How many calls did you make looking for a car so you could race last night?"

"A couple," Furia revealed.

Lin stared at her for a long moment.

"Fine. Four. I even asked Johnny."

She couldn't help but laugh wildly at the idea. "You asked to borrow Gat's Venom? You have bigger balls than me. You'd think that car was an extension of his cock."

"Well, aren't they?"

"In some cases," Lin agreed with a smirk. She sipped at her tea quietly for a moment before she shifted her weight and unfolded her legs as she met Furia's gaze again. "I know what I'm asking. And while I am pretty sure I can take you in whatever ride you scrape up, I am aware that letting it slide will go against everything in your nature."

"That's an understatement," Furia said, shaking her head with pursed lips.

"I'll make it worth your while," Lin offered, even though she knew that had nothing to do with it.

The other woman looked up at her sharply through long eyelashes. Her jaw was tight.

"I know that has nothing to do with it. But I don't expect something for nothing."

Furia stared at her, the glare darkening several shades. "No. If that's what you need, then that's what you're going to get. When do you want this to go down?"

"I want you to embarrass them first."

"You should have started with that part," Furia quipped.

"Maybe so," Lin agreed.

The two women talked strategy and logistics as they finished off the pot of traditional green tea. Lin clued the other woman in on the Rollerz racers and some of the tactics they liked to employ, as well as their weak spots. It was a welcome distraction from the isolation Lin usually felt. The Westsiders were not the type of people she knew. They grew up in a different world, it seemed, where as she and most of the other Saints' lieutenants, and a fair number of the members grew up on the Row and in the poorer neighborhoods on the Southside.

Lin felt like she had nothing in common with the people surrounding her, except a love of cars, and even that seemed more about status than tuning or driving. Knowing she could easily lose the entire day talking tactics and driving styles with Furia, Lin finally forced herself to leave. She suggested the other woman wait a bit, just in case; Lin did not want the suspicion that might arise if the Saint was seen leaving around the same time as she was sneaking out the back of her grandfather's tea house.

 

**-3-**

Aisha's laugh was bright and full. Furia glanced over in time to see her shaking her head in the direction of the taller woman slouched in the arm chair near the mirrors.

"Are they letting you sleep at all?" Aisha asked.

Furia shrugged one shoulder. "As much as I choose to."

"You look like you're not choosing to, girl."

"It's not that. Just had some things come up and they happened clash with the schedule I had planned."

"Like what?"

Furia cocked an eyebrow at her. "You really want to know?"

"Probably not."

The Latina nodded. She barely wanted to know what the last two days had entailed. She and Mikey had finally finished off Miguel's order, minus the honey trap, at about three am that morning. It also seemed that her driving had impressed Ekaterina enough to inspire the woman to recommend her to a few other girls around town, which left Furia to spend a good portion of the daylight hours cruising the freeways to a chorus of faked orgasms and grunting, interspersed with cliché requests for praise. That very morning she had spent nearly four hours being chatted up by one of the Stilwater U coaches who liked to make sure his star players practiced what he had called, "proper stress relief techniques."

Of course, after the short tense visit to the church two days earlier that involved a strained a chat with Johnny and Troy about the approach they wanted to take with the Vice Kings it was an easy call to find just about any way to avoid the Saints HQ for a while. Since then she took whatever work anyone offered, because sometimes when things were calm it was just as uncomfortable to be alone with her own idle mind, which seemed overly preoccupied with what happened in that Copperton warehouse.

"Hey!" Aisha called again, staring at her with a trace of concern. "Seriously? Are you all right?"

Furia sat up. "Yeah, I'm fine. You might be right though. Little tired. So, my mind keeps wandering."

"You need a night off." She turned away from the mirror in a form fitting black sheath. "What do you think?"

"It will leave Johnny with his jaw on the floor."

The singer smirked and cast a glance at her reflection over her shoulder. "Yeah, but truth be told that doesn't take much. But I was talking about tonight, not the dress."

"Oh, no. I wouldn't go near that in someone else's body," Furia replied. Nico chuckled brightly at her statement as he walked into the room carrying a swath of white in his hands.

The event in question, Dean-O's birthday bash (strike one), was being held at the Candy Store (strike one and a half--Claudius would certainly be there but so would Ginger, which kind of tipped the scales on that one). The last strike and a half rested in the fact that she knew, if for no other reason than expectation, Troy would likely be there. And in her current state, alcohol and temptation seemed like a pretty bad combination.

"Well, normally, I would agree with you. But I think you need some fun. Even Johnny said he thinks you're working too hard."

"This from the man who refuses to let me help even when I offer," Furia muttered.

The silence made the Saint look back up. "There's a reason for that." The tone in Aisha's voice was a little sullen, but Furia could not get a read on why.

"Is everything okay with you and Gat?"

Aisha waved her hand widely. "Yeah. It's nothing like that. Just things are not what I thought they would be like," she said as she ducked back into a changing room.

Furia leaned forward, staring at the door between her and the other woman. "Anything I can do to help?"

"No. Not right now." After a minute or two, Aisha's voice regained some of its typical carefree confidence. "Nico. We need to find her something for tonight."

"No," Furia argued.

"Yes," Aisha insisted as she exited the room again. The white halter dress was stunning against her dark skin and it seemed to adhere to Ginger's rule about flaunting what one had. "And she needs to look at least as good as me, if not better."

"Aisha, seriously, the last place I want to spend a night is Dean-O's birthday party."

The singer waved her hand dismissively. "That is not why either of us is going. I'm fairly certain this dress could make Johnny lose the power of coherent speech," she said, running her hands over her hips and admiring the way it hugged her curves in all the right ways.

"You might be right there," Furia agreed.

"And you look like you could use a night of frivolous fun with lots of dancing and copious amounts of tequila."

Nico reappeared with what he thought would be perfect. The jeans and the lavender lace midriff top she could handle, but her eyes stuck on the white strappy heels. He must have seen her focus on them.

"Oh sweetie, those aren't for you," he drawled dramatically as he handed them to Aisha.

"Thank God."

Aisha looked at her and pointed to the dressing room. With a petulant sigh Furia followed Nico across the room. It seemed that Johnny's girlfriend was single handedly trying to change Furia's wardrobe choices from baggy jeans and hoodies to something a little less formless.

"Come on out. I want to see," Aisha said a little too cheerfully a few minutes later.

 

**-4-**

"Come on, man. We're going to be late," Johnny said, leaning back in his chair and looking at his watch before he laced his fingers behind his head again.

"It's a party at a strip club. I'm pretty sure there is no such thing as late," Troy argued.

Johnny let the front legs of the chair clap against the stone as he stood and rounded the desk. He eyed the book from over Troy's shoulder, flipping a page and inspecting the conglomeration of numbers. "Is this that fucking thing Paulie brought back?"

"Yeah," Troy confirmed, swatting Gat's hand off the pages.

"Give this thing to Dex. That numbers bullshit is right up his alley."

"He claims he doesn't have time."

"We got to have more than one person that can run the numbers. What about Lucy? She's good with a book."

Troy shrugged one shoulder at him. "She tried it. She kept with it for a while, but nothing."

"Shit, tell Jules and he'll make Dex decipher it."

It might have been true but for one thing--Julius knew what Troy knew. Dex was not the only person in the Saints with a head for numbers or the ability to decode this book. Of course that would mean that she would have to explain it to Troy. He was not sure that was the best call after, well, everything--the race, the warehouse, and that meeting that she practically sprinted out of. From what he heard around the church she had not been near the building since. Bradshaw was pretty sure that the impetus for her absence was exactly the same reason why he had not brought the book to her.

Currently his plan with the ledger was to wait for his next drop to Markovson in which he would send in a request for the report on the damn thing. Whether his partner would do that or not was a whole other matter. But if Alan came through, Troy would have his bases covered,  since he had been staring at those damn numbers off and on for days. It made him fairly certain he could play off his discovery as some kind of miraculous epiphany, if push came to shove.

Gat slammed the book closed on him and stole the pencil right out of Troy's hand. "Fuck this accounting shit! Let's go. I'll buy you a fucking beer."

With an irritated groan, Troy dropped the book in a drawer and locked it away for the night before following Johnny out of the empty church. There were a handful of unlucky new bloods _on duty_ and looking rather sulky about it as the two lieutenants strolled toward the ostentatious Venom.

"Hey man, where's your ride?"Gat said, looking up and down the street.

"I didn't drive today, remember you and I were cruising Sunnyvale."

"That's right," Johnny said, hopping into the car without opening the door. "Sometimes it all starts to just feel like the same damn long ass day."

"So does your entire plan for King involve picking off low-level pimps?"

"No."

Bradshaw shook his head and lit a cigarette as Gat pulled away from the church.

"I look at it like this. These guys on the corners watching the girls are like trusted security. Tanya knows these cats are going to keep an eye on her business. Once that level of control is out of the picture, she's got to reel those girls back in. Consolidate her inventory if you will."

"And?"

"And if you can't get what you want where you want it you go somewhere else?"

"So what's keeping her johns from just going to the brothel?"

Johnny shrugged. "Some of them will. Others won't."

"This is your plan."

"No all of it," Gat muttered. "I have something that's going to make Warren Williams cry in his lacy panties."

Troy choked as he inhaled. "That sounds promising. What might that be?"

The smirk on Johnny's face and the cold dark look in his eyes when he glanced over at the undercover cop disturbed Troy. Bradshaw could almost feel the chill from the other man's gaze creep up his spine. Gat could shift from easy going to scary as hell in a handful of steps, but he was solid. If he trusted you, he had your back and you could count on him.

When Gat faced the road again, his voice was calm as the eye of a storm. "I'm going to blow up Kingdom Come Records."

"The fuck?"

"That will kick King right where it hurts. In the pocket book."

Bradshaw's mind raced. "When?"

"Not yet, but soon."

"Christ, Johnny."

_He can't fucking be serious_ , Troy thought trying to convince himself of that fact, but with everything he knew about Johnny Gat every word the man had just said was flat out true. It was not a plan. It was a promise.

_How the hell is he going to blow up a building? And what the hell is he waiting for? Jesus Christ._  Troy rubbed his hand across his forehead; he knew he could not tip off the cops without more information and Johnny played everything close to the vest. It was likely Troy would not find out anything more about the plan until he saw it on the damn six o'clock news.

By the time they reached the Candy Store, Troy needed a drink, or ten. The place was closed for the affair and it was packed with purple. Dex and Julius waved them over to a small table surrounded by thick arm chairs. The strippers were working the stage, but by the looks of things some of the crew had relocated furniture to make room for a dance floor, too.

Troy offered a little nod at the familiar redhead behind the bar. He had not realized she worked here. Johnny joined them shortly after Troy sat down next to Julius and handed over the promised beer.

"Well this looks festive," Johnny said lightly, scanning out the room.

Julius shook his head with a rumbling chuckle. "What guy wouldn't kill to have his twenty-first birthday party in a strip club?" the older man joked.

"What's that song the country boy was singing earlier?" Dex asked. "Titties and beer?"

"That about covers it," Gat added. "Birthday, Christmas, Kwanzaa, Easter. All around perfect gift idea."

None of them were immune from laughter on that one.

"Where's Aisha?" Julius asked over the noise.

Gat shrugged rather animatedly. "No idea, she's probably still trying to convince your girl to take a night off."

Little nodded. "I hope it works. Playa's been running full tilt."

Troy just quietly sipped his beer, letting his eyes scan the room from time to time.

"Hey Gat!" Dex called, drawing the table's attention to him until he nodded his chin toward the door.

The men at that tiny table were not the only ones that saw the pair entering the room to a loud chorus of whistles, hoots, and howls that announced Aisha's arrival. Even Troy had to admit she looked good in that tight white dress, but his attention shifted to the woman that walked in a few steps behind her. Furia strolled across the room with the other woman, but when Aisha veered off to greet Johnny, the taller of the two continued on a straight path to the bar. Bradshaw's eyes were glued to her hips as they swayed.

Furia stepped behind the bar and hugged her friend, with the distraction of those well-cut jeans out of sight Troy tried to push a lot of things out of his mind, as he shifted his gaze to the beer in his hands. The out of sight, out of mind trick got immensely easier when she crossed to the side of the room behind him.

When the distinctly Latin rhythm started, Troy thought nothing of it. Aisha's cheering was what pushed his attention to the makeshift dance floor. Furia stood there as the sea of purple parted and thinned to a smattering of people who knew that dance. Her crooking a come-hither finger in his direction made chest tighten and for about a half a second Troy thought it must just be directed at him, but the newly tense lieutenant turned out to be safer than he found he wanted to be.

Her target stood behind him. Furia smiled playfully as her brother reluctantly walked toward the floor. He stood there for a moment until she narrowed her eyes at him like a scolding big sister. Half the room laughed as Memo finally held his hand out to her. It was shocking to see the shift that happened when her hand hit his. For a man his size, Memo was surprisingly smooth on his feet.

The pace was dizzying. Memo kept up with her though. That pair seemed to start a flood that brought more people back to the floor. The people on the fringes just seemed to try and mimic the style of movement, while those more well versed travelled the floor with whoever they matched up with. It was a twirling mass of spinning bodies and shaking hips, which was exactly where Troy's attention lay initially. Then the partner's started shifting. A wide smile that lit her face brightened her eyes; her enjoyment of the dance was clear and fully intoxicating.

When Marco caught her hand, Troy noticed a tension tighten her movements. He could see the shift in her hips as well as in her eyes. She seemed to lose some of the joy of it. Earlier in the night he caught a glimpse of something similar when Marco caught up to her on the dance floor and when he pulled her out of a spin, essentially stealing her from Javier, Furia looked less than pleased. With that partner the display changed and the fun of it seemed to be sapped for her as Marco moved around her rather than with her.

Bradshaw chewed at his bottom lip as he watched with no consideration as to his conspicuousness. The display had the attention of most everyone in the room, though admittedly his interest was likely more pointed. Pulling the same type of move Marco had, Dean-O grabbed Furia's hand, but unlike the previous partner he danced with her. Taking a long pull on his beer, Troy hated to admit it, but they moved in sync with each other and beyond the fun of it, the final partner of that dance seemed to ignite an intensity in her that only served to remind the Saints' second of the last time he had seen a look like that in her eyes.

After the song ended, the intensity dissipated. It was the first time he could remember Dean-O and Furia sharing a quick civil conversation. Usually their exchanges bordered on hostile to the cusp of bodily harm. The dance seemed to shift something in their association, giving them a point of commonality.

Troy scraped his hand across his forehead hazarding a glance in her direction just in time to be locked in her gaze as she crossed to the table he was at. _What is it about that one?_

The question, asked so many times, had no answer he knew. Or at least it did not seem to have one answer. And the combination of things that seemed to draw him to her like a moth to one of those damn bug zappers could all be found in those haunting hazel eyes.

"Julius," she called from beside Johnny's chair. "Any chance I can interrupt your night for five minutes?"

"Sure thing." The boss stood and the two made their way upstairs.

 

**-5-**

"What the hell is that about?" Dex asked, the irritation thick in his tone.

"Probably the Chinatown thing," Johnny said absently as Aisha climbed off his lap and joined a group of ladies near the bar.

"What Chinatown thing?" Troy asked, leaning toward the table.

"Shit, you hadn't heard?" Gat, rather pleased to be the man with the information everyone at the table wanted, decided to milk it a little. He usually was not the one people came to for information, unless they needed him to beat it out of someone.

Troy and Dex both shook their heads, wearing expressions of varying degrees of curiosity and irritation.

Johnny’s nod, punctuated with a short chortle, made Dex roll his eyes. “It seems your girl up there,” Gat said with gesture toward the second floor with his chin, “had a sit down with none other than Wong Sheng Tai.”

“What the fuck?” Dex threw his hands across his chest in a familiar sign of frustration. He had been trying to get in to see Wong for months. He even boasted weeks earlier that he thought he might be close.

“How'd she manage that?” Troy’s measured reaction stood in stark contrast to Dexter Jackson who was now slouched in his chair looking a bit like the kid who got picked last for dodge ball.

Johnny took a swig from his beer and shrugged. “Fuck if I know.”

“Who told you this?” Dex queried. His tone sounded a little more collected but he was still quite pissy.

“Lin. She overheard something the other day, asked me if I knew anything about it.”

“What do you know about it?” One thing was certain about the guy they all called their master strategist, Dexter Jackson did not like being one upped.

“Not much. Just that it seems Mr. Wong is amenable to our position and is willing to put his trust in us over the Rollerz.”

Troy shook his head, wearing a curious little grin as he cast a glance up to the second floor. Returning to the festivities, Julius wore a look that rivaled the cat who ate the canary as he walked down the stairs with a hand on Furia’s shoulder. Her smile was more relieved than anything, or at least Johnny thought so.

“Sorry I didn’t say anything earlier. Really haven’t had the chance,” she said as the pair approached the table.

“Oh, we are aware of that. You know you don’t have to do this all yourself. You can delegate things to people,” Julius suggested as he moved back toward his chair.

“Not really my style, you know?”

“I’ve noticed.” Little’s chuckle was light and pleased. “Take a night to relax. Believe me. You've earned it.”

“What was that about?” Troy asked, waiting until the target of the question was out of earshot.

“If Dex’s face is any indication you already know,” the boss chided.

“Details,” Jackson bit back.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Julius replied, staring at the younger black man.

Jackson straightened and his glare softened in an instant. “Sorry, Jules.”

“Julius.”

“Sorry. Julius,” Dex repeated through clinched teeth. “Johnny mentioned something about Wong.”

Little lifted a glass of whiskey to his lips and nodded.

“How did that even happen?”

“By accident,” the boss said with a laugh.

“What do you mean 'by accident'?” Troy asked suddenly curious again.

Julius shook his head as if he still could not believe it. “She and that kid she’s been dragging around. What’s his name?”

“Mikey,” Gat and Bradshaw replied in tandem.

“They were dropping something from Miguel and some shit went down. She stashed their car in Little Shanghai, some spot she knew was Wong’s. Like any good thief, Furia knows the golden rule out there. You want to work Chinatown, and live through it, you talk to Wong.”

“How did she get in to see him?” Dex asked much more civilly.

Julius sat back in his chair eying his three lieutenants in attendance. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

Dexter’s mouth tensed into a thin line. “Wong does not take casual meetings. He also does not meet with every boost and cat burglar that strolls through Chinatown. How did some baby banger get in a room with him?”

“You really think I’d lay down orders to you guys to ingratiate her into things if she was just some fucking baby banger, as you call her?” Julius asked, glaring at Dex.

“Then who the hell is she, Jules?” Bradshaw asked.

Johnny would not have minded knowing the answer to that question, too. He liked Furia well enough, but he did not know all that much about her; and Aisha had not been as much help on that front as he had hoped. Though his girl did trust the other woman, and quite quickly too. Aisha was slow to trust. So Gat chalked it up to Furia bringing Zia back.

“You guys wouldn’t know the name if I told you. Suffice to say her people used to be known for more than boosting and chopping cars.” The older man swirled the amber liquor in his cup before downing the last of it.

“Jules,” Troy started before he leaned toward the boss. The rest of their conversation happened in whispers.

Johnny watched the two of them for a bit. Both of them talked behind their hands which served to muffle the sound and obscure their lips. Julius nodded at intervals which usually left Troy shaking his head in disagreement or tilting his head in consideration of the topic.

When Aisha poured herself back into Gat’s lap he left the other two men to their conversation, turning his attention instead to her. Letting his fingertips ghost over the curve of her thigh as she crossed one leg over the other, Johnny nuzzled his nose just below her ear. Light kisses produced a heady giggle that made him smile against her neck. He sucked at her earlobe for a moment before releasing it.

“So, is the dress new?” he asked, letting his fingertips slide just beneath the high hem.

Her hand clasped his wrist and she leaned away and looked down at him. “Johnny,” she pleaded with that little trace of a whine she used when he would push past her sense of propriety.

He pulled his hand back from the hem, and instead ran it down the length of her leg to her ankle before starting back upward with a slow gentle caress. His eyes met hers and he could see hints of the effects of two margaritas. _She is such a lightweight_ , he thought, leaning toward her. His lips brushed hers as he repeated his question. “Is it?”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, her fingers grazing his jaw to coax him into a deeper kiss.

“I like it.”

She wiggled her hips against him. “I know,” she purred.

The little rumble in his throat that punctuated the forceful way he seized her neck made her giggle deliciously. Johnny loved that she dressed to tease him, but he knew it was not just about that. She liked to look good, or at least that was what she told him early on when his jealous streak was a little more pronounced.

When he and Aisha first got together, he got into fights almost every time they went out over men ogling her. She would get angry at him for punching someone out. Then he would ask why she dressed the way she did. And almost every time, that conversation ended with her coiling against his chest purring in that low voice she saved just for him as she would say something like, “I thought you liked it.”

Of course he did. It took Johnny a while to figure out that she did not dress that way for other people; hell, she only marginally did it for him. Mostly what she wore was for her, she liked the way she felt in those clothes, which he came to realize was the reason he enjoyed seeing her in them.

This time when his hand reached her thigh, her hand got to his earlier.

“Johnny,” she said in a tone that was almost scolding.

“What?” he asked with a note of petulance.

When she bit her bottom lip, he squeezed her thigh.

“Take me home.”

He did not need to be asked twice, though he did have to wait for her to make her rounds before he could get her out the door. Once they stepped outside, she wrapped her arms around his and slipped her hand into his, lacing their fingers as he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. When he opened the car door for her, Aisha pressed against him as she rose on her tip toes to plant an appreciative peck on his lips.

Johnny liked to tease her anywhere, while Aisha tended to keep her attentions to more private venues. But she did love to torture him while he was driving. According to her, he was a much better driver when someone took control of his stick. They were barely out of the parking lot before she nipped his earlobe.

At red lights, he would divert her mouth from his neck, kissing her harder when her nails dragged roughly along his thighs. _Such divine torture_ , he thought as he looked down into her shining brown eyes. He would do anything for her. Johnny kissed her deeply, his tongue teasing at hers in the dull dimness of the night, only releasing her when some idiot behind him laid on his horn.

Gesturing at the other driver, Johnny slammed his foot on the gas. The distinct disadvantage of not catching red lights was that Aisha knew him too well. Before he even got out of Shivington his shirt was open and her hands were no longer content to tease at his exposed flesh or scratch along his thighs.

He groaned as she bit at his neck, her satisfied little giggle made him ache, but not so much as the soft jingling of his belt as her deft fingers worked quickly.

“Eash, baby, I’m trying to drive here.” It was the same argument he always made.

“Is that what you call it?” she chided as she shifted. Her breasts rubbed against his arm, while her hand slid between his thighs.

The rumble in his chest was deep. He loved and hated it when she did this. It was pure torture when she got into these moods. The first time she pulled moves like that on him, he had tried to retaliate. He got distracted and it ended poorly--scraped his Venom along the sidepanels of five parked cars before ramming into some little Asian woman who kept hitting him with her purse. After six grand in body damage, Johnny classified that as the most expensive grope in history.

Thankfully, Aisha's place was not that much further. When he pulled into the parking garage of her building, he did not even bother looking for the right spot. He took her face in his hands, kissing her ravenously as she refused to let up. Reluctantly, he pulled her hand out of his trousers and got out of the car--zipping and buttoning his fly as he rounded the vehicle. After opening her door, Johnny helped her out then tossed her over his shoulder. With an open shirt, his belt jingling with every step, he strutted toward the elevator with her giggling and squealing his name.

“Johnny Gat, put me down.”

“Oh, I will. In about six more floors,” he told her as he tugged his keys out of his pocket and found the one for her front door.

When she smacked him on the ass, Johnny returned the favor adding a greedy little squeeze that made her wriggle on his shoulder.

“You better be still, or I’ll give you a reason to squirm,” he taunted, turning his head and kissing the side of her thigh.

“You wouldn’t--”

His fingertips grazed the patch of silk between her legs, cutting off her statement by demonstrating that he clearly would be so bold.

“I wouldn’t what?” he taunted, his mouth on her thigh as his finger trailed lightly along the soft fabric. When the elevator stopped, he slapped her bottom playfully again. “I thought so.”

Her hands gripped his waist tightly as he carried her down the hall. The door opened with no fuss and before it closed all the way he had set her down and kicked out of his shoes. After throwing the bolt to lock the door, Johnny caught up to her in the living room. She might have had him on edge in the car, but now he had her right where he wanted her.

Johnny pulled off his open shirt as he stalked toward her. She walked backward slowly. As she pulled her heels off carefully, he knew she was going to make it fun. Aisha bit her bottom lip when she grinned at him then she turned and headed for the stairs. He caught her at the top. Pressing his body against hers, Gat pinned her back against the wall. The hungry look in her eyes prompted him to press his hips against hers.

“Johnny,” she sighed heavily.

When she said his name like that it always stirred things in him. Aisha tugged at the back of his neck, pulling his lips to hers as her thigh hooked over his hip. As he kissed her, Gat trailed his hands lightly up her leg again and stroked his fingertips across that moist silk again. He teased the fabric aside, causing her to break the kiss. Her breathing was shallow and taken through parted lips. Her dark eyes were wide almost daring.

He loved it when she challenged him. Making a show of it, Johnny dragged his fingers across his tongue. She gasped, knowing precisely what he was planning. Her moan was like a drug and he was at the edge of fiending for it as he slipped a finger into her. When Aisha moved her hips wantonly against his hand, Gat denied her. Her teeth bit down on that plump lip again and the dare was more adamant when she said his name again.

He bit her neck then brought his lips to her ear. “All you have to do is ask.”

“Johnny,” she gasped as his fingers circled her clit once then returned to tease at her moist entrance.

“Yes, Eash,” he grumbled lowly against her shoulder.

Her breath was warm on his skin. Her lips brushed his neck and his cheek as he teased at her. Gat knew she was working up the nerve to say the two little words he was waiting for. He didn’t always make her say it, but sometimes he liked forcing her out of her comfort zone. It always surprised him that with the lyrics she sang, getting her to talk dirty to him when they were alone together was near on impossible.

“Fuck me,” she whispered with a meekness that made his cock jump.

Grinning against her warm dark skin he picked her up once more. This time her legs wrapped around his waist, and he carried her the remaining of the length of the hall to the bedroom.


	18. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Troy finds himself at a crossroads that leaves him scrambling, while Furia decides to brave the car thieves of Stilwater and puts out feelers about finding someone to help with parts and labor on the car she's thinking about buying. She wants to be prepared when she brings home her first baby girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual thanks to Chy!! My accomplice in this mayhem.

**18 Decisions**

**-1-**

With a glance at his watch, Troy set the pencil down and stretched. The book was useless right now. Alan kept pressuring him to turn it over, but he knew that could not happen convincingly. Maybe he could approach Julius about getting it to an accountant. He shook his head knowing exactly how that conversation would play out. Little would tell him to pull Furia in on it, and that was exactly what Troy needed right now--being stuck in a room alone with her.

The vibration of his phone on the desk echoed through the room like a jackhammer. He looked at it before he answered it-- _Restricted_.

"Yeah." He did not even try to keep the exasperated tone out of his voice.

_"Two hours, downtown docks."_

"I'll be there." He hung up and dropped the phone on the desk, staring at the dark surface of the wood. "Fuck!" he yelled punching it harder than he should have. The pain shot up through his hand and he winced, shaking it before he examined his knuckles.

_This is just fucking fabulous. Two meets in a week's time this is going to fucking blow my cover. Maybe he's got the assessment of the book. Maybe this is a good thing._ Troy stared at the handful of items on the desk--the phone, the ledger, crumpled up pages with horrid attempts to decipher the math in the ledger, and a pencil that had been sharpened so many times that it barely qualified for the job anymore.

Dropping the cell phone in his pocket, he swept the rest of it into the drawer and locked it. He lit a cigarette as he walked out of the office. The nave was fairly empty, but Furia's girls were there now, returned from whatever she had pulled them into. Furia was becoming quite the little crew runner--her connections with Mikey, Lucy, and Peaches made for a tight knit little quartet. By pure chance, Furia even managed to be completely democratic about the crews she lifted people from. Lucy had been one of Troy's, Mikey was Johnny's rifleman, and Peaches was one of Dex's contact girls--she knew people everywhere.

The four of them ran together a lot, more so since Furia's self-imposed exile from the church, which Troy suspected had to do with him, well, his presence. If nothing else, the way she avoided him the other night at the club, confirmed that suspicion. From what he was hearing, she was teaching Mikey to boost and the kid was helping her with her shooting. That part stung a little, but Troy really could not blame her for that. After all, he was the one that slammed on the brakes that night, he recalled as he slid into the driver's seat of his car.

Rolling the window down, he backed out of the spot and drove north. The chill in the air reminded him of that night. Running his hand through his hair, he let his hand stop at the back of his neck for a moment before he returned it to the wheel. When he turned onto the bridge, he knew it to be a trick of the mind, but he could have sworn he could smell the light fruity scent of her shampoo. 

He veered right from the left lane, hopping the curb as he skidded the car to a stop. A truck's horn blared and the few pedestrians brave, or stupid, enough to be strolling across the bridge that night screamed and dove out of the way. Troy sat there for a long time, holding onto the steering wheel so tight his knuckles went white, while his mind tortured him.

It had been so calm and still, precisely what he needed, what he wanted. _Then that fucking song._ He laughed at himself pressing a hand to his head. _This is fucking ridiculous_. Troy checked his mirror and pulled back into traffic. After parking several blocks from his destination, he took a meandering path to the meeting place, trying to come to a decision. _Any decision._

Alan was waiting for him when he arrived at the lower level of the dock, sitting on the concrete bench in the darkness with a cigarette.

"They're not going to give me the intel on the ledger, are they?" Troy asked when he hit the bottom of the steps.

The silence was all the answer he needed. Bradshaw walked over to the railing and dug his pack out of his pocket.

"Your girl dropped off the radar. And no one has a fucking clue who she is except that she spends a lot of time with Miguel Guerrero in his shop."

It was Troy's turn to remain silent.

"It looks like the boys that picked her up in the Marina might not be too far off the mark."

Troy froze, staring out at the water as the flame licked at the tip of the cigarette in his mouth. "How do you figure?" he asked, exhaling slowly.

"Saw her with a john in the Hapton Hotel. She seems to like 'em young."

Troy shrugged. "Did you pick 'em up?"

"You damn well know I didn't pick her up."

"I actually don't know dick about what you do or don't do besides calling me to find a fucking public place where I can be seen talking to a goddamn vice cop. And I would not know if you've dragged her in, because since that night she's been running off the grid. I don't know who she's taking her cues from, because it's not me, it's not Dex, and as far as I can tell it's not Gat. And like I've told you before Little keeps his own fucking counsel," Troy barked, turning and facing his partner, stabbing the cigarette in his direction regularly.

"She was with Michael D'Angelo."

Troy laughed and shook his head. "Do you even read my reports? He's not a john. He's been working with her."

"What do you think she was doing there?"

"Fuck if I know. Like a said she's a driver, maybe they were shopping long term parking."

"I doubt it, ATU has been all over Wardill for the last week and a half."

Troy shook his head and turned back to the water.

Alan shifted and crossed to the railing, leaning next to the undercover detective. "Do you have anything else for me?"

"Chinatown is shifting," Troy revealed, flicking ash out onto the breeze.

"Someone finally got to Wong?"

"Looks like."

"When did that happen?"

"No idea, found out about it last night. Julius announced it. Probably going to see a lot of bodies in Little Shanghai in the next few weeks." Troy's tone was matter-of-fact. He knew this was an accepted and expected part of this assignment. The Saints were going to take over turf. They were going to step on toes--there would attacks and there would be retaliation. Stilwater's leadership and the police department understood that, and as long as most of the bodies that piled up in this process were flagged up, they were fine with it.

Markovson did not respond. There was no response to be made.

"I want out Alan."

Flicking away his butt, the older man stared at his hands. "Not going to happen."

"I thought this was a voluntary assignment," Troy replied through gritted teeth.

Markovson laced his fingers together and looked over at the undercover officer. "It was. But they've been keeping track. Counting points. Unless you see this through they are going to hang you out to dry."

Troy laughed, shaking his head at his hands. "That's fucking priceless. I'm either a sinner or a saint, huh? I bail, they charge me. I finish it, then all is forgiven and I'm welcomed that into the fold. That about the gist of it, Alan?" The anger brimmed over into his voice as he straightened and turned to look at the other officer, usually Bradshaw could mask it better.

"Troy, you're a fucking cop. You know the law as well as I do."

"What about the orders to do whatever it took? The orders that said I'd be clear if I was forced to step out of bounds?"

"Stepping out of bounds is one thing, walking on the other side of the fence is another."

Troy grabbed his partner by the collar and leaned him over the railing. "You and the department dropped me into this for six months. I've been in this shit for three years, and completely squeaky the last two. No races, no shootings that went wrong. I haven't so much as jaywalked. Since I got Julius' trust I haven't stepped a toe out of line, and you guys are going to hang me out to dry for what you told me to do. What you sent me into the Row to do?"

He let go of Alan and started pacing while the other officer straightened himself out again.

"I know, man."

Troy stopped and glared at his partner. "Don't even fucking go there. You don't have a goddamn clue."

"Look, all that's left is to finish it. Help the Saints do what they are already doing. Build the case on them. _All of them_. Then it's over. You can go back to your life."

"You know Markovson, at first I just thought you were the unlucky prick that got stuck with the worst partner ever. But I just realized that maybe I was just some naïve asshole that didn't see he was being fucking set up."

Alan shook his head. "They did not think this through. They wanted the easy way out and a gang war looked like a win-win. Clear the gangs out, then the cops go in and clear out the Saints upper echelons before they get a real foot hold, and it's over and done. Stilwater can be a nice clean, family-friendly metropolis again."

"Except for the politicians."

They both laughed at the truth of the statement. "It's too late to go back. You have to see it through. I'll do what I can, but things are just getting tighter on this side."

"Yeah. Don't worry. I've got it. I'm on my own until this is done," Troy said with a sharp tongue. He turned and walked toward the stairs, stopping when he reached them. "Just remember that the next time you call me for a face-to-face because you panties are in a twist."

"Troy," Markovson called after him. "Fine. I'll back off some."

The undercover officer made no reply, he just walked up the steps slowly. For the first time in three years he almost felt like he was on solid ground. At least now he knew exactly where he stood, there was almost a sense of relief in knowing what had to be accomplished, though there was a shocking amount of nervousness twisting his stomach as he walked along the waterfront.

The murkiness remained and it was stretching farther. The one thing that had seemed clear was that there was an end to all this, but there even seemed to be a question about that now. If they were willing to let him whip in the wind for not finishing the assignment, what was to say the same thing would not happen if he did. Troy rushed toward the railing, holding onto it tightly as the anxiety finally got the better of him.

After emptying his stomach in the river, he let his body sink to the ground and looked up at the night sky. _Not one fucking star_ , he thought as the night took on a orangey black hue from the combination of smog and lights. Drawing his gaze back to the street, he noticed three beat cops standing on the corner. They had to be rookies, he thought, noticing the crispness of the uniforms and the fact they were still able to smile and joke easily.

The trio sipped at their paper cups with Apollo's logo emblazoned on the sides, one traded their cup for a cigarette after every drink. Troy could not help but laugh and relate to that one. When he noticed a pair of guys in gold jackets strutting up the other side of the street, Troy got to his feet. None of the officers paid the two blatant Vice Kings any mind, of course, neither did they notice him in his purple jeans. _They don't have a fucking clue. Not one damn fleeting idea what they were in the middle of_ , he thought as he spat on the concrete.   _Of course, until tonight, neither did you._

 

**-2-**

Furia felt like she might be taking advantage of Mikey, using him for his wheels, she thought as the pair of them pulled up to her cousin’s garage. She knew she needed to put her hands on a car. Some way, some how she just needed to force herself to make the time. The pair of them crossed to the open bay door and found Miguel in his office.

“Hola, cuz,” he said right to Furia. He nodded at Mikey then glanced at his shoes. “How you doing, Baby Spice?”

Mikey shook his head.

“Tell Samson not to go spreading that name around,” Furia said pointedly.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is that your pet name for him?”

The smack Furia delivered to the back of Miguel’s head resounded of the metal, as Mikey stifled a laugh and brought his fist to his mouth to camouflage the grin.

Rubbing at the back of his head the mechanic glared up at her. “You want this in cash or what?”

“Nah. I think I’m going to have to do this in trade.”

Mikey straightened and she noticed the little worried look on his face.

“Don’t worry, mijo, you’ll still get paid.”

“What kind of trade are you thinking?” Miguel asked leaning back in his chair.

Furia sat down on a crate near the door. “I’m thinking about finally breaking down and getting my own car.”

“No shit.” Her cousin grinned widely.

“With all the car thieves in this town it never seemed prudent.”

The three of them laughed, Miguel shaking his head at her. “And you want the parts to tune it?”

“Well, if I'm going to drive it, that baby will need to purr. And, yeah, I was hoping maybe you could work a little magic.”

“Are you having Samson do the work?”

“That’s the plan. Still need to ask him though. Not sure if he’s going to want cash or if he’ll do it in trade as well.”

Miguel shrugged. “Probably depends on the state of things.”

“I know.”

“You got enough laying around if he wants the green?”

Furia winced and shrugged one shoulder. “Probably. Maybe.”

Miguel laughed and pushed himself backwards towards his desk. Shuffling a few papers he came up with a card. “Now, I’m going to warn you. This cat’s kind of new on the scene. He’s trying to squeeze out a guy who’s running just about everything out of the port for the Vice Kings. He’s on the up and up, but he might be a little less organized than Ralph.”

“Yeah, but Ralph has been doing this shit since your Pop was in diapers,” Furia countered. Ralph was one of the biggest movers of cars, parts, guns, and _party favors_ in and out of Stilwater, his client list was long and distinguished. Most of the time if you needed work and you were good enough Ralph was a sure thing for some solid cash. But there was one thing about him, he had high expectations. His orders were usually large and highly specific. Furia had worked with him a few times, via Miguel, but never on her own because she just did not have the crew to pull the types and number of cars he was typically looking for. And she had less experience with breaking and entering to allow her to do anything other than boosts and jacking for him.

From what Miguel said,  Sam might be a little more up her alley. A little more her speed.

“What’s this guy need?” Furia asked. “Is he just moving product or does he need a procurer of fine automobiles?”

Mikey chuckled at the way the haughty voice she used.

Miguel’s jaw shifted as his mind turned over, she knew the face well. There was something about this that he did not like and he was not entirely comfortable handing it to her. “You’re serious about this? There’s not something else you have shaking right now that could get you the cash you need to cover the work?”

“Not really. Unless you have another order you need filled.”

Miguel shook his head with a little telling wince.

“I’ve been doing some driving gigs here and there, just moving things from A to B,” she said, knowing it was not an accurate representation of the job she did for Jack. “But the money there is good, but the jobs are few and far between.”

Miguel sighed and tapped the card on the edge of the desk.

"Just tell me what he needs."

"Someone with a set of brass balls, who is not afraid of pissing of the right people. More specifically, he is looking to intercept anything and everything the VKs are trying to move, in or out of Stilwater."

This time Mikey's laughter revealed nerves more than enjoyment of the interplay between the two cousins. "Which is where the brass balls come in," Mikey said quietly.

Furia cast little more than a calm glance in the direction of the kid that was quickly becoming her right hand before returning her attention to the mechanic. "And he'll work with me."

"On my rep, yeah. But like I said he's also kind of desperate for good help right now, so he'd take about anything that knocked on his door."

The lone female in the room considered the situation for a long moment, staring at her cousin who was still flipping the card between his fingers.

"All right, set it up," she ordered. "Call me with the meet."

She did not wait for Miguel's reaction, Furia knew it did not matter. Nor did she really need to know how Mikey took the situation. This was her gig, and if need be she could pull it off solo, probably. She shook her head at the little twinge of doubt. _No sense in wondering when you don't even know what the job is yet_ , she told herself as her steps crunched against the gravel.

Mikey's footsteps overpowered the sound of her own as he jogged to catch up with her. He did not say anything until he stopped in front of her place and she got out.

"You're really going to do this?" he asked, leaning against the roof of his car.

"What? Make the Vice Kings sweat it?" She stopped, turned, and stared at him. "That's what we got recruited for right?"

"Well, yeah. But …"

She studied him for a moment. Then walked toward the car, setting her hand on the roof. "It's cool Mikey. I can call Memo to back me on this one."

"No. No, I'm good. Just not used to this."

Furia smiled up at him, glad he was not getting too nervous.

"I'm serious," he explained shaking his head. "This in your face stuff isn't quite my style. I mean mostly I do things like the other night--quiet little smash and grabs. No gunfire. No car chases. Just quiet in and out. Score." He shrugged as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Every once and a while Johnny would call me to watch his back. Stand way far away and make people cry."

"That good a shot, huh?" Furia knew he was decent with a gun, but she did not know Mikey was one of Johnny's go to boys. It made her wonder why he had not given her a hard time about occupying the kid of late, since Mikey was one of Johnny's crew.

"A lot of practice. Not much else to do where I grew up."

"Poor little sheltered country boy," she chided with a big grin.

He smiled widely as he tried to glare at her.

"Look. It's all good. I did not grow up doing this shit either. I don't think any of us did."

"Except Johnny," Mikey injected.

Furia laughed. "You might be right there. Look. I'll probably meet with this guy on my own. We'll see what the job entails and judge from there."

"Sounds like a plan."

She started toward her door again and realized she forgot something. He rolled the window down when she tapped on the passenger side glass. She tugged the envelope out of her pocket and handed it to him.

"For your help."

He peeked in the envelope then looked back up at her wide-eyed. "There's too much here."

"Twenty percent."

"I didn't earn twenty," he countered.

"Not your call. My job. I decide the percentage," Furia said, tilting her head at him.

His mouth moved a few times then he snapped it shut and nodded.

"Good boy." She tapped the top of the car and straightened. "Take Peaches some place nice or buy the girl some flowers or something," she called over her shoulder as she reached her stoop.

"I think I just might," he yelled back.

 

**-3-**

In most things, Furia's tastes were simple, relatively. She liked spicy food, music with a good beat, and cars with big engines. At Poppy's she could find two out of the three. Her attempts to distract herself with work left her little to no time to cook, which she actually enjoyed doing. It relaxed her and invariably when she unwound the voice in the back of her head would start prodding again.

So after a breakfast with Johnny discussing Tanya, Helmers, and whores, and a long "lunch hour" with Ekaterina and a lawyer with an overwhelming desire to be held in contempt and punished for his rash and unruly behavior, she decided to catch a bite sans sex with the Stilwater Times crossword puzzle. Since the place was empty, except for her, Jay had turned up the Latin Jazz he loved to play in the kitchen, which had Furia's foot tapping as she pecked at her food and failed miserably at her crossword.

"Three down is hip," the familiar voice advised from over her shoulder.

_FUCK!!!_ Every cell in her body screamed it in unison as she tilted her head upwards and met Troy's hazel eyes.

"I like to go across first then go down."

His lip twitched slightly at the statement and she turned back to the page closing her eyes as the chastising voice started anew. It had a lot to say, she had managed to keep it quite since the night at the Candy Store.

"You busy?" he asked sliding into the booth across from her.

"Kind of."

"With?"

She tried to think of something, but there was nothing. Truth be told the last few days had been painfully slow and she had spent most of the previous afternoon up on the ridge with Mikey. "My crossword," she said finally.

"Uh huh." His tone suggested she lacked conviction in her word game. "Do you think you could pull yourself away from it long enough to take a look at something?"

_Fuck. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!_

_No. I cannot. No Way! Not a snowball's chance in hell._

"Sure."

_Oh my God! Are you completely ignoring me?_ The rational side of her brain screamed like a child in the throes of a tantrum.

He stood and she followed him out after leaving enough money to cover the meal and a generous tip on the table. When Troy leaned into the open passenger seat window, Furia stopped just outside the door of the restaurant, freely staring at his ass until he moved to stand again. At which point she walked over to the car.

When he handed her the ledger, she narrowed her eyes at him. "This is from Ricardo's."

"Yep. I can tell they are moving a lot of cash. But how and where are the questions I need the answers to."

"You're not going to get them from the book," she said, laying it on the hood.

"Paulie said you told him this was the key to their money trail."

Flipping pages, Furia chuckled and shook her head. "Not quite. This is just the record of how much was moved to what account, and where it came from."

"So, it can tell you the point of origin?"

"Not quite." She turned and leaned her hip against the car then held out her hand. "Give me $20."

He looked at her incredulously.

"I'm trying to show you what I'm talking about so just give me the twenty."

His shoulder shifted as his dipped into his pocket, his eyes never leaving hers. Troy held the bill up between his fingers with a little smirk; Furia tried not to smile at him as she plucked it out of his hand. She laid his bill and one from her own pocket on the hood. Then on the back of hers she ticked a little checkmark with her pencil, before laying them face up.

"This one's mine, it has the checkmark on the back. This one's yours. What happens with some money laundering is that there's a simple trade, one for one. So I give you my check marked bill and take your clean one. Though usually the cleaner would take a percentage, but we won't go there."

"Okay," he said with a surprising lack of confidence.

"What the Rollerz are doing with Ricardo's is something altogether different, but not. They are bringing dirty and clean money in from a lot of sources. And parceling it out in different amounts so that it's not a clear straight line. Like if instead of offering a clean twenty you gave me ten and my friend ten, and my friend would then give me a ten from their pocket. They are adding steps and being more discrete about the amounts, while also passing along the'clean' out to get washed again somewhere else." Tapping the book, she added, "And this only tracks the portions that Ricardo's was moving."

"So there are three more places out there with similar records?" Troy asked.

"Probably. Could be more."

Bradshaw pushed his hands through his hair as he paced away from her. Furia flexed her own hands and crossed her arms over her chest. He turned, with his hands on the back of his head, and stared at her for a long moment that seemed to just swell.

"Well that was a complete and utter waste of time."

"Dex probably could have told you the same thing at a glance." She turned her back to him and grabbed the bills, holding one out to him.

"A glance, huh?"

"Yeah. He'd probably know it on sight. It's how he moves--" Her brain stopped when she glanced over her shoulder and he was next to her again. She swallowed at the tightness in her throat and dropped her gaze back to the hood of his car. "It's how he's been moving ours around."

Troy reached past her and grabbed the ledger, while Furia pressed her palms against the hood she tried to remind herself to breathe like a normal human being and she must just get through the next few minutes.

"Hear Mikey's been helping you with your aim?"

_¡Dios mío!_ "Well," she started with a one-shouldered shrug. "He's a decent shot and I've been a little busy. Plus, I kind of figured you have better things to do."

"Some days I do. But not always."

A part of her wanted to grab him and shake him while yelling, _What the hell is going on here? Can you pick a speed? Forward or reverse? And clue me in when you change it?_

"Well, next time I've got some free time I'll let you know."

"What are you doing now?" he asked, taking a step toward her when she swiped up her crossword and her mechanical pencil.

_¡Chingame!_

Troy took another step, his eyes never leaving hers. "If you aren't busy, we could get in a little target practice. I could even manage to keep my promise and swing you by Herc's lot. He's got a few domestics on the lot that meet your … demanding specifications."

When he smiled at her, Furia lost all trains of thought. At once they all just derailed and exploded into a massive fireball that seemed to take all cohesive thought with it. She shook her head hoping maybe the motion would cause one or two brain cells to collide and come up with something brilliant.

"I … uh …"

His smile widened.

_I'm fucked. Completely and utterly screwed._

"Get in the car, Furia."

When he pulled the car door open for her, she stopped and glanced up at him. "You going to let me drive?" she challenged.

Troy licked his lips; she watched the motion with too much interest before her eyes returned to his. He leaned on the door, holding her gaze. "No," he said with a gleeful note of finality and a coy smile. "But I might buy you a Vanilla shake."

Crossing her arms, she took a step toward the door between them and tilted her head to the right. "You really think I'm that easy?"

"Not by a long shot."

Furia could feel the smirk on her lips as she stared up at him for a long moment before sliding into the passenger seat. His grin bore a trace of triumph when he closed her door.


	19. If It's Red, It's Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julius' plans for Furia take an interesting turn that lead to her little excursion to the ridge with Bradshaw, though their attempt at target practice is interrupted by Dex. Once the Carnales learn just who was responsible for stealing their drugs, Angelo Lopez and some of his crew decide to take their own brand of retaliation to the Row.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again Chy for all your help.

**19 If It's Red, It's Dead**

**-1-**

Troy kept his word. When they reached Tidal Springs, he detoured into Freckle Bitch’s and procured shakes before heading up to the ridge. His locating her had only been partly about clarification about what was in the ledger. Julius wanted Bradshaw to get her on that mountain and get her familiar with a rifle, though the order came with no secondary information, like the why that kept circling through his head.

Leaving her to work on her marksmanship with her pistol, troy returned to the trunk to gather the two large cases he stowed there. _Why does Julius want to try a mediocre shooter on a long rifle? It makes no sense. Not when they have guys like Mikey and Memo who were born shooters._ Troy could not shake the sense of dread that crept up on him when he thought too hard about it. But a setup did not seem to fly when he thought about how Julius seemed to be focused on making her into something more than just one of the rank and file _._

With deep breath he tugged the cases out of the trunk, setting them on the ground and tucking the mats under his arms. Guns and ground covering in hand, he crossed the wide expanse to where she stood near the small table bolted to a slab of concrete. When her clip was empty, she ejected it and turned toward the sound of his footprints.

“You talk to Johnny lately?” he asked, a note of strain in his voice as he strained against the weight of the cases.

“This morning. He wants me to go see some redneck he knows about his last sheep.”

His brow furrowed.

“Like the gig I pulled a while back for Julius’ friend Will. Bring the lovely ladies back home so that they can put a cramp in Tanya’s pocket book.”

“Wait a minute. He’s got you running girls for Helmers?”

She shook her head. “I’m not _running_ anything. Merely transporting Widget W from point T to location H, so that a percentage comes to the church rather that going downtown.”

“That dumb son of a bitch.”

“Enhance your calm,” Furia suggested as she fired in three-round bursts. "I do it all the time. Though I am thinking of trying something a little less obvious this time around. Take Lucy and Peaches with. The boys tend to draw a little too much attention to themselves."

Troy stared at her for a moment. _All of them. They were all out of their minds_.

"You do recall having to be bailed out for solicitation, right?"

Furia glance over her shoulder at him. "Sip. But we aren't soliciting anyone."

"You're associating with prostitutes."

"And car thieves, and numbers runners, and murders, and cat burglars, and just general social reprobates." She punctuated each classification with a three-round burst from the handgun. Furia reloaded the weapon again. "It's not like I'm Mother Theresa here. This time around I won't be quite so stupid as to believe the cop walking up on me will give me the benefit of the doubt. I'll know exactly where I stand before they even open their mouth."

There was something more telling in the sound of this series of shots, though Troy knew that lay wholly in his imagination and to be fueled by her comment about the SPD. His eyes met hers when she glanced over her shoulder at him again.

"Besides, I'm a big girl. I won't take a job unless I think I can handle it. So you don't need to worry about me."

He nodded. _She's right. You've got more than enough of your own shit to worry about. You don't need to add Furia and her crazy schemes to the long list of crap to be concerned about._ Troy knew all this, but he also knew that it was, like so many other things, easier said than done. Even if he did not want to be, he was aligned with many of the Saints; Bradshaw saw them as friends, good friends. With her it was something similar, or at least that was where he was trying to keep it.

Taking a deep breath he returned his attention to the rifles, while she continued with the pistol. Bradshaw tried to keep his mind on task, but he just kept circling back to where it seemed to center lately. With another attempt at a mind cleansing breath, Troy stood and shook out out one of the mats. His eyes wandered back to her and he watched her carefully.

Her stance was relaxed and comfortable, which was a change. Her grouping seemed to have improved since the last time he saw her shoot, though her aim was still off. He moved toward her and waited for her to empty the clip before touching her shoulder. She startled and he could feel her shoulder tighten under his hand, which prompted him to remove it.

“How are you sighting your shots?”

Her teeth tugged at the corner of her lip, as she ejected the clip. “Just point and click, mainly.”

“You give up on the sights?” Even he could hear the little note of admonishment in his tone that he did not mean to be there.

“How do you mean?”

He shook his head and looked down at her. “Do you not remember the conversation we had about point shooting and flash sighting? After the storage yard on the Westside?”

She shrugged and looked up at him biting her lip. Taking a deep breath to remind himself why he was on that ridge, he took her weapon and pointed out the sights again, then tried to adequately explain what he obviously failed to convey the last time they discussed it.

“Concentrate on the front sight. Line them all up so they are level and as long as the front post sight is between the rear sights, you’re pretty much going to hit anything as long as you aim for the chest. Well, within say twenty-five or so feet,” he explained, leaning over her as she lifted the pistol. He wanted to check how she was lining things up. "Save the fancy stuff for the marksmen. Just go for center-mass."

She glanced back at him and Bradshaw realized he was looming.

“Sorry.” He took a step back and observed. “There you go. It takes like a hair of a second longer than point shooting, but you’re much more likely to hit something.”

Furia nodded at him then raised the pistol. The result was not immediately dramatic but there was promise. More practice and she could be a formidable shot.

“What’s with the rifles?” she asked when the clip was empty.

“Julius asked me to get you familiar with one.”

“Why?”

He heard her pull the slide back, so Troy waited for the three shots before answering.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

He had both rifles set up when she finished the next clip, so he called her over.

“Tell me this isn’t just some elaborate trick to get me spread-eagle on the ground.”

Troy glanced up at her from his spot smirked at her. “No, but it would be a pretty good one, wouldn’t it?”

“Listillo,” she grumbled as she knelt on the other mat.

 

**-2-**

“When you change the cartridge be careful not to jostle the gun too much,” Troy said, leaning up on his elbows a few feet to her right. “You want to keep it in line with the rest of your body as much as possible and too much wriggling of you or the weapon will throw you out of whack.”

Furia felt a little more relaxed, which she attributed to the fact that she did not feel as on display as usual. Rather than standing over her, Troy merely propped up slightly on his elbows as he watched her wing targets. After the first five shots she made, he just stayed mostly in the same firing position and offered tiny suggestions here and there to get her more comfortable.

“Is that why my aim is completely haywire?” she asked as she tried to do what he suggested.

“No.”

When she narrowed her eyes at him, he laughed and cast that goddamn befuddling grin at her. She looked away quickly, tapping the magazine in, but she froze when she caught his movement in her peripheral vision.

“Line up like you’re going to take your shot."

He loomed over her, though merely kneeling, but she tried not to think about that. Though she could feel the little pin pricks lighting nerves throughout her body she tried to relax and do as asked.

"Straighten out your legs and keep your heels close to the ground. Relax.” Troy said the last word quietly in a long drawn out manner before he stood.

_Shit!_ She could feel herself tensing up, knowing he was inspecting her form. The anxious feeling stirring in her stomach did not come from the fact he was studying her, but because she was still pissed off at the part that wanted him to be interested. Suddenly he crouched next to her again.

“Move this elbow out a little,” he said too softly, tapping her right arm. "Now line up your shot. And don't close your eyes." His laughter made her sigh through gritted teeth and served to relax her more than anything else might have.

"Never going to let me live that down, are you?" Before the first shot she took, Furia was not sure what to expect from the gun, either in sound or the sensation. Troy giving her a set of ear plugs had not inspired confidence.

"Probably not."

When  Furia started to line up her shot, his fingertip tapped the top of her head. She tilted her head up and scowled at him.

"Ear plugs. Or I'm going to start calling you left ear."

"Has anyone ever told you that you aren't funny?" she asked as she maneuvered the fluorescent orange foams into her ears.

The first shot actually hit the target in the black form painted on the thick metal. One advantage to the ear plugs, she knew she was the only one that heard her triumphant little whoop. She swung the weapon slowly and eyed the next target, firing again before returning to the first. She fired all five rounds, each one hitting their mark.

She could feel the grin on her face as she laid the rifle down and sat up, thrusting both hands in the air triumphantly.

"YES!" she yelled, almost entirely in her head.

Troy pulled at the cord attached to the orange bullet-shaped piece of foam in out of her ear. "Nice job," he said.

The warmth in his voice sent a jolt down her spine that spread tension over her shoulders. "Uh … Thanks," she replied much more calmly.

"Want to give it another go? We could add some distance. The farther the shot the more you have to consider."

"I guess--"

When MC Hammer's dulcet tones, broke the relative serenity of the ridge, Furia fumbled for her phone quickly while Troy cast a curious expression her way.

"Dime," she said a little more sheepishly than usual.

_"I need you to stop by the church,"_ Dexter Jackson all but growled at her.

"Something wrong?"

Troy glanced over his shoulder at her as he put away the rifle he has been using.

_"No. I need you for a job. You're supposed to be the driver, right?"_

"When?"

_"Now! And when did you start channeling Troy with the fucking twenty questions bullshit. Damn!"_

Dex hung up before she could say anything else, or more than likely before she could ask anything else.

" _U Can't Touch This_ , huh?" Troy asked with a smirk.

"What can I say? It just screams Dex."

"That was Dex?" he asked laughing. Then he nodded. "Yeah, that seems pretty accurate actually. What did he want?"

"What does anyone ever want when they call me?"

He stared at her for a moment.

"A driver," she relented.

He cased up the second rifle while she folded and rolled the mats in an attempt to be helpful. It was like picking up after some demented version of nap time, an idea which shifted all sorts of unhelpful images through her head. She muttered at herself in Spanish, letting the derisive part of her brain blow off a little steam in a way she knew Troy would not get.

"If you're going to keep talking to me in Spanish, I might have to learn."

"Wasn't talking to you," she said, throwing the second mat at him. "So, any chance you're feeling particularly chivalrous and would drive a girl back to the church?"

Troy smiled at her. "All the girl had to do was ask."

Furia rolled her eyes at him and climbed into the passenger seat. She crossed her legs, in hopes that might keep her heel from hammering nervously against the floorboard. Sitting there made her head swim and brought too many things she would prefer not to think about at that moment to the forefront of her mind.

When he notched the window to allow the smoke to escape the breeze carried not only the hint of tobacco, but the spicy note of his cologne. Furia straightened in her seat and looked out the window as they curved down away from the ridge. Thankfully it was still daylight out or it might have been even harder to sit there in the front seat of Troy's car surrounded by the heady scent of him. As they neared the freeway, she decided she just had to break the silence otherwise this trip was going to get monumentally longer.  

"Do you know anything about what he's got in store?" she asked, trying not to think outside of the topic of her earlier phone call.

"To be honest, I don't know. Dex likes to play things close to the vest, whereas Johnny and Lin will seek out advice and opinions more often than not. Though it’s a little tougher on Lin now."

"I kind of picked up on that last time I talked to her."

"I don't like it."

"What do you mean?"

Troy looked over at her, his face unreadable. "It's just not easy when you're thrown into something like that. You roll with people long enough and you start to think like them, you know?"

"I think so," Furia replied. "You're worried she's going to go over to the dark side."

"Not really. But the temptation will be there."

Furia noticed his hands tighten on the steering wheel.

"It could turn out to be more than she can handle," Troy said.

"Lin's tough."

His eyes darted to hers for a moment before returning to the road. "Yeah, but sometimes that's not enough."

She did not know why, but he seemed extremely concerned for Lin. In a way it reminded Furia of Memo. As he slowed to a stop at the light, she leaned on the arm rest and touched his shoulder lightly.

"Hey! She'll be fine," Furia said in an attempt to soothe his anxiety. "She's got a solid plan to ingratiate herself to them. Then we'll pick them apart and the Rollerz will be history."

Troy looked at her for a long moment, before the honking started. "Let's hope you're right."

 

**-3-**

Peaches turned down the volume on her headphones when she saw Furia enter the church with Troy. The pair of them headed to the back of the church in a bit of a hurry. She shrugged and leaned back, kind of glad that her friend did not have anything going on just now. It made it tons easier to to try and figure things out with Mikey.

After the car incident with Leo, Peaches got the privilege of sitting through her first ever big sister lecture. She never had brothers or sisters, so she had kind of always been on her own, which suited her fine until now. Joining the Saints was kind of like getting a big brand new family, sort of, or at least that was the way she saw it. They watched out for each other, helped one another out; they were friends and rivals, teased each other, picked on each other. Though, the family metaphor got a little weird for her after Mikey finally worked up the nerve to ask her out.

_Speak of the devil_ , she thought when she saw the lanky blonde man walk into the nave. He smiled at her and winked. Everyone knew about the two of them. It did not matter to anyone. But the two of them did try to keep it out of the church, mostly, she admitted as her inspection of him caused him to blush.

Lucy slapped her on the arm. "Let that poor boy be. You're gonna catch him all sorts of hell."

Peaches smiled and giggled as she turned to her friend. "Maybe," she crooned. "But don't worry I'll make up for it later."

"You are too much," Lucy said, standing.

"Where are you going?"

The tiny woman shrugged. "I'm bored. Think I might grab a bite or something."

"Dean-O and them were talking about getting a parade together to go up to the drive-in tonight, you wanna go later?"

Lucy leaned on the arm of the sofa and spoke softly. "Not unless there is more than just and Mikey in the car. I'm all for porn, but usually not where I can touch it. You know?"

"God, I hate you," Peaches said with a grin.

Lucy kissed her on the forehead and straightened. "Liar. You want something if I go by Poppy's?"

"Sure. The usual."

Peaches propped her cheek on her fist and dug her phone out of her pocket. She realized, as she stared at it, willing it to ring and be anything to do, that Furia was starting to rub off on her. Before the Latina showed up, she and Lucy could content themselves to just veg some days, now they found themselves looking for things to do. Dex had thrown them out of his office once already, and after the third time she asked Johnny if he had anything for them, he had actually growled at her.

The clatter drew her attention to the door. Several people in the room were on their feet and she knew she was not the only person there with a hand wrapped around a weapon of some type. Tyrone stumbled through the door, looking more than just out of breath. If she did not know better, she would say he was spooked out of his mind.

"Hey man!" several of the Saints said with concern in their voices as they crossed toward him.

"Where's Dex?"

"Where he always is," Peaches said first, pointing to the hallway.

He stumbled down the corridor bouncing off the wall more than once. The sound of raised voices kept everyone on their feet. Mikey sent a few guys outside to keep an eye on things.

"Mikey," Furia yelled down the hall. "Peaches. We're going for a walk." The distinctive sound of the slide of a Vice 9, confirmed that something was going on.

"Take Paulie, with. He's a good shot," Troy ordered.

"You trying to tell me I still can't shoot straight."

"Hey! You said it. Not me."

"Muérdeme," she muttered, causing several of the guys to laugh before two serious glares were cast across the room.

"Come on," Furia said with a wave. The four of them walked out the back of the church. As they trotted down the stairs the distinctive sound of twisting metal was peppered by gunfire. They all darted for whatever cover they could grab in the churchyard.

"What the hell's going on?" Mikey yelled as they fired at the two guys who had rammed their La Fuerza into the thankfully empty parking space.

"What's it look like?" Furia replied, firing three shots. "The Carnales decided to make a house call."

"Oh, this is going to be just awesome. Where's Johnny? You'd think he'd want to get in on this."

Furia shrugged. "No shit, huh? Dex said he left earlier. Believe me they're looking for him."

Peaches phone went off in her pocket and she ducked and crouched as she pulled it out.

_"What the hell is going on?"_ Lucy all but yelled into the phone.

"Carnales want to play. You okay?"

_"Yeah, a few of us were at the diner. This place is going to need a makeover after this though."_

The sounds of breaking glass, gunfire, screaming came over the line.

_"It's getting kind of ugly out here."_

"Yeah, it's not much better at the church. Hang tight," Peaches told her friend and hung up the phone. "Furia!"

After relaying Lucy's report, the quartet piled into the La Fuerza with poor Paulie having to hang on for dear life in the bed of the weird hybrid vehicle that wanted to be a cross between a coupe and a pickup truck.  Of course, Peaches did not fare much better, straddling the console with Furia's hand between her thighs every time they changed gears.

"So does this mean we're dating now, mujer?" the younger woman asked as they all piled back out of the vehicle.

Furia laughed as she took shots at big guy who thought he was invincible; he was just walking toward them firing randomly. When she dropped him, Furia reloaded her weapon. "I don't know. Mikey doesn't strike me as the type of guy to share."

The four of them took some of the heat off the crew in the diner. When the street cleared out for a few moments, they ran over to the blown out windows.

"You guys doing all right?" Furia called as they neared one of the Saints' favorite neighborhood hangouts.

"Yeah," Lucy said, popping up from behind the counter. Her face and arms were all cut up from the glass, but otherwise she looked okay.

"Cuts and scrapes mostly. Marta and Jay are in the back."

"See if you can't get them out of here. The Carnales obviously knew they could find Saints here."

"I'll handle it," Lucy volunteered.

"Take whoever is here with you. Once they are out of harm's way, head up towards the church. They might need some help."

"On it."

Furia started to leave, but turned back toward the window. The look on her face was one Peaches had never seen before and the tone of her voice was almost menacing. "And if you see red, drop them. No questions. Over and done."

 

**-4-**

The metal clunked and popped as Furia bounced off the door of the car next to Mikey with a great deal of force. As the pair tried to find a moment to breathe, she tucked away her empty Vice 9 and looked up at the cloud pocked blue sky. She needed a solution to their situation and most immediately her own. When she yanked the door of the Cavallaro open, he leaned over the hood and fired several shots to try and force any Carnales shooters back into cover while she dove into the front seat.

"What are you doing?" Mikey asked breathlessly.

"Looking for this idiot's gun," Furia replied, trying to keep her head down.

"You're out?"

"Yeah."

"Well shit."

"My thoughts exactly." She leaned across the seat and found a T3K Urban. "Well, this is about to get hilarious," she said with a laugh in her voice as she pulled the bag out of the wheel well of the passenger side.

"Jesus Christ," Mikey agreed when she dropped her little treasure trove on the concrete.  "Have you ever used one of those before?"

"No, but it can't be all that different."

His laughter did not inspire confidence. "Just hold on really tight and tell me before you shoot so I can duck."

"Chingate, Mikey!"

"My mother would be so proud of me learning a foreign language. Though not sure the preacher's Cuban wife would appreciate my limited vocabulary."

He leaned over and peeked in the bag she retrieved. Furia tugged it away and glared at him as she offered him a much more colorful example of Spanish. He smiled the entire time she went off. He was not the only target of her multilingual diatribe; it soon directed at Carnales on the subway platform as well, though she did not leave Mikey out of the loop.

"Mikey, could you please shot that firebug bastard?"Furia yelled. She yanked off her still smoldering sweatshirt and tossed it onto the sidewalk.

"I'm trying. If you quit spraying your new toy all over the place I might actually get a clean shot."

"Less bitching, more killing that pendejo, por favor."

"Well, since you asked so nice. I'll see what I can manage," Mikey quipped.

The squealing tires warned them what was coming. Furia crouched and hurried back a few cars to where Peaches and Paulie were holed up. "We've got two more cars incoming. I think they like us."

"It's totally you, Sweetie. Or maybe Paulie, because these guys are _so_ not my type," Peaches said through clinched teeth as she fired on the driver of the first car.

"Hey Furia, how do you say _fuck your mother_?" Paulie asked.

Before she thought about it she told him, and stood up to fire on the cars now emptying of passengers. _This thing sure does eat through ammo,_ she thought as she crouched and traded out the empty for one of the clips from the bag she retrieved from the LC car. During the calmer moment she heard Paulie say something about _open warfare_ , before he started yelling about someone being an ass, as he sprayed bullets from his own SMG at the guys peeking from behind the big red and white Hollywood.

"What the hell are you doing?" she asked the next time he ducked behind cover.

Paulie shrugged at her. "Fucking with that Jack Armstrong idiot," he replied, covering the microphone of his ear piece.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"Touché," Furia agreed as she reloaded. "And you're right. That guy is such an ass."

Mikey's cheer of triumph resounded off the brick as the explosions ended and were followed quickly but frantic yelling on the platform just before a large explosion left three guys stumbling then rolling down the steps with their jackets on fire.

_Teach you to try and set me on fire,_ she thought before the group in purple moved to clear out the few remaining men who had arrived in the last car load. Paulie spit on one guy as the four of them piled into one of the hardtop Hollywoods. When phone went off, she knew they were all staring at her as Vanilla Ice's signature chorus screamed from her pocket.

"What? Everyone gets their own ringtone," she explained as she hit the button to answer the call.

_"These guys were not fucking around,"_ Troy stated. Things sounded relatively calm on his end of the line.

"Ya think?"

_"You have Mikey with you still?"_

"Sip."

After a moment of silence, he said, _"I'll take that as a yes. Get over to the underpass. They have some wackos out there with RPGs."_

"You can't be serious."

_"I wish it was a joke, or that anyone could fucking find Johnny."_

"We cleared that platform and the park, but there are still a lot of LC cruising around burning shit," she said as she sped along the surface streets that paralleled the freeway. First chance she got, she passed beneath the highway and started her backtrack to the area Troy had indicated.

_"Good. We've got people trying to clear them all out, but those guys out by the freeway are becoming a problem, and for more than just us."_

"I hear ya. We'll take care of it." She hung up the phone and tucked it into her pocket.

"Okay. You have to tell me who that was," Paulie begged from the backseat.

"Learn to live with disappointment," Furia replied. She pulled the red monstrosity behind one of the pillars and slammed it into park with a jolt.

"Come on, Furia."

Leaning on the backseat, she ignored Paulie's entreaty and set to explaining the situation as Troy related it to her. "It's pretty much on you, Mikey. The rest of us are little more than moving targets. Emphasis on _moving_ ," she reminded with a sharp glance at the other two. Taunt, run around. And for God's sake stay away from cars or you'll get yourselves blown to hell."

"Got it," the other three replied in near unison.

_Hope this goes better than the damn subway platform,_ she thought as grabbed two clips from the bag and tucked them into front pockets of her jeans. Shooting was not in the game plan for this so she had no need for a ton of ammo, just enough to be able to make people look at her instead of Mikey so that he had enough time to get himself lined up. Furia's plan consisted mostly of drawing their attention away from the one of them that could get them down most efficiently given the right conditions. Well, and trying to keep some kind of solid cover between her and the guys with the rockets.

_This has got to be one of the stupidest things you've ever done_ , that derisive little voice whispered from the back of her head.

"Yeah, well, let's just hope it's not the last dumbass move you ever make," she muttered to herself before she darted out into the middle of the street and leveled the SMG at the pack on the walkway skirting the beach.

 

**-5-**

_FUCK!_

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

"Get her out of there!" Mikey yelled across the street to Paulie and Peaches. "Now!"

He turned his attention back toward the underpass, trying not to think about the fact that one of the people that counted on him, that put their trust in him …

Swallowing hard, Mikey shook his head violently and tried to push the image of Furia flying backward and tumbling across the pavement out of his mind. He tried not to think about it, but it was not working worth a damn.

_Come on, boy. Breathe._

He could almost hear his father's voice. Mikey closed his eyes for a moment and took a long deep breath. When he opened them again, he tried to concentrate only on the sound of the air moving in and out of his body. With nothing in his head, except long smooth breaths, he took aim again.

_Now visualize it, son. See the shot. See the mist. Once you see it. Squeeze that trigger real gentle like. Caress it right and she'll respond the way you want her to._

The shots were controlled and slower than he would have liked but an AR-40 was not a sniper rifle and the shot he was trying to make was a little longer than he was comfortable with, at least with this particular weapon. The rocketeers fell steadily, one by one. Finally the only LC threat left was some fool waving around an SKR-7 Spree.

"Yeah, you're mine," he muttered as he swung the rifle left and rotated the switch near the trigger. Mikey harbored a deep appreciation for whoever invented selective fire. A single three-round burst did the trick.

"Mikey, behind you," Peaches yelled from across the street.

The red Cavallaro careened off stopped and abandoned cars that littered the roadway in an attempt to avoid the now nonexistent threat of rocket-propelled grenades. The Saint still could not believe the Carnales managed to get their hands on that kind of hardware, and he was fairly certain he was not the only one that would be asking that question after all this was said and done. Mikey knelt and took careful aim.

_Driver first. Then passenger_. He told himself as he fired. Once both were down, D'Angelo slung the weapon over his shoulder and sprinted toward the parking lot where the others dragged Furia.

"Touch me again, Paulie, and I'll cut your hand off," Furia grumbled as Mikey hopped the retaining wall.

"How's she doing?" he asked, kneeling with the others.

"Well, bitch is conscious now at least," Paulie observed.

When Furia lunged for him, her aim was about a foot off.

"Easy there, slugger," Mikey said, helping her sit back up. "Peaches, grab us a car. I think we might need to get Sugar Ray here to Mrs. Nguyen."

"You finally kill those red bastards, kid?" Furia asked groggily.

"Of course. Sorry it took so long."

Her head wobbled like a newborn's as she shook it at him. "As long as you smoked 'em, it's all good."

"Yeah, except--"

Furia lifted her hand quickly to cut off his excuse and nearly caught Mikey in the face. "Shush! It's done. And I told you all to avoid the cars, but managed to get too close to one myself. My own fault for being colossally stupid."

Peaches pulled up with a Churchill and honked twice.

"Put your arm around my neck, Furia," the young man ordered as Paulie dashed over to the vehicle to open the door.

"I got this," she argued and swatted his hand away.

Mikey decided it was better not to fight with her, even if it earned him her ire later. Grabbing her wrist, he quickly pulled her over her shoulder.

"Whoa!" she hollered as her world spun.

It was a sensation Mikey knew well enough. He had been in her position more than once--knocked cold then feeling a little woozy after. Hell, he knew he was likely making make her feel even more dizzy by dangling her over his shoulders, because he would bet money she had a concussion, if not worse. Something else he knew all too well.

Once he got to the car, he set her on her feet and tried to get her into the backseat without hitting her head. That he managed to accomplish to his own surprise. They were back at the church in a matter of minutes, and this time when he offered to help her she let him.

"You know I'm going to have to kick your ass when this is all over," Furia said quietly when he picked her up.

Mikey chuckled. "You can try."

"Try, nothing. Hell, I've already done it once."

Lucy's mother had come down to the church rather than attempting and cram all the injured Saints into her little two-bedroom walk up, there was more space in the abandoned religious building, and it was more isolated, and defendable, than the older woman's residential building.

"What the fuck?" Memo yelled when Mikey entered the nave.

Mikey tried not to laugh when he heard her start muttering softly in Spanish. Furia loved her brother, but hated his overprotective streak, which Mikey found hilarious because she harbored the exact same trait. The kid was pretty well certain that if there were a way to measure a thing like that Furia's would be much bolder and encompassing the her little brother's.

Memo's big hands cupped her face as he examined her quickly. "Tati," he said quietly and pressed his forehead to hers. When the big man's head rose, there was a fire in his eyes that made Mikey's knees almost buckle. "What happened?" he growled.

"Back off, man," Troy called, putting his hand on her brother's shoulder. The lieutenant's eyes met the younger man's after a quick glance at the strangely giddy woman Mikey was carrying. "There's an empty sofa in Julius' office, put her in there."

Mikey noticed Troy keep Guillermo occupied long enough for him to get her out of the main room of the church. In the office, he set her down gingerly. Rather than lying down, as he placed her, Furia wriggled herself drunkenly into a sitting position.

"You know it wasn't your fault, right, kid?" Furia asked.

Mikey shrugged half-heartedly.

"You did good, Mikey. I mean it."

"I almost got you killed."

Furia laughed, her whole body wobbling as she did so. "No. That was all me. I was pretty sure that was kind of a shit plan. But it was what I had. And I should have been paying better attention. Let that station wagon get just that much too close," she said trying to hold her hands up a few inches apart.

If he didn't know better, he would have guessed she was drunk out of her gourd, but he knew the symptoms she was exhibiting were due to the dizziness from hitting her head on the pavement in the explosion.

"I can't believe I got myself blown up. But, hey, there's a first time for everything, right?" Furia said with a chuckle.

Memo came in when Mrs. Nguyen did. Troy tipped his head at Mikey and walked back into the hall. D'Angelo followed the lieutenant's unspoken request. When he entered the hallway, the hand placed on his shoulder held on a little tighter than the kid expected as the older man guided him into Johnny's empty office. When Bradshaw released him, the Saints' second crossed his arms and looked at the younger man sharply.

"Explain to me what happened."

Mikey gave him a complete run down of the events from the point the four of them left the church. When the young man explained Furia's _plan_ for the situation at the underpass, Troy bent his shaking head and laughed.

"Jesus Christ. Frogger with RPGs, that was a solid fucking plan," he opined, his voice thick with sarcasm. When Troy looked back up, Mikey wiped the start of a smile off his face. "She said she got herself blown up."

"She warned us to keep our distance from any cars or smaller targets that wouldn't give us adequate protection. But she says she got too close to one."

"What do you say?"

"I was nervous and took too long to get the shot," Mikey admitted quickly.

Troy slapped him on the shoulder. "Furia's right, kid. If she got in the blast zone, that's on her not you." The older man set a cigarette between his lips and stuffed his hands in his pockets looking for his lighter. When he found it, his eyes caught Mikey's stare. "You got something else you want to say?" Troy asked around the cigarette he was trying to light.

"I missed the shot. I was drawing on the guy that fired the rocket. If I had made the first shot, it wouldn't have happened."

The other man froze and studied Mikey.

"Did you get him with the second shot?" Bradshaw snapped the lighter closed.

"Yeah."

"You know the official success ratio for shooting in situations like this is considered to be greater than 20%. You were at 50%."

Mikey just stared at the man for a long time. He knew Troy was trying to do the same thing Furia had--make him feel better about fucking up the shot. But he still felt responsible. She counted on him to do that one thing.

Troy's hand on his shoulder pulled D'Angelo out of his own head again. "Look, Furia's not holding you responsible and neither is anyone else."

"Memo is." _I am._

"Maybe for a short time sure. But I'm sure she can make him see reason."

"All due respect, Troy. I've got sisters. Reason means fuck all," Mikey said.

"You're right about that," Memo said from the door. "Of course, good money says your sisters aren't as bat shit crazy as mine."

"That is true," Mikey replied cautiously.

Memo crossed the room in a matter of steps, but what surprised the shortest of the three men in the room was the hand Furia's brother offered toward him. "Thanks for getting her back, man."

"Least I could do. I owe her a few."


	20. Easy Does It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the attack on the Row, things slow down a little in some circles while picking up in others. Furia finally decides it's time to actually take the dive and get her own set of keys, while Lin thinks she may have found her in on the Westside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers Chy!

** **

**20 Easy Does It**

**-1-**

When Furia's head sank against Memo's arm again he nudged her gently, after no response he poked her in the ribs. She growled at him and lurched away from the infraction. Rubbing gingerly at the spot, her head lifted and she eyed him. He could not help but smile at the way she was aiming for sharp, but merely came up with amused.

"I swear. One of these days I'm going to break that fickle finger of doom," she mumbled still rubbing at her side.

"Whatever. Once I got to be taller than you, you became less scary," her brother said as he tossed a card toward an upturned hat.

"You'd like to think so, wouldn't you?" She returned his earlier attack with a quick punch to the ribs.

Memo expected it, but it still stung. "Your turn."

Floating a card toward the hat a few feet from the couch they were tucked up on, she scowled when it veered away at the last second. "Why are we playing this stupid game again?"

"Because the last time you stood up you were still dizzy as fuck, and Lucy's mom said she'd make me a soprano if I didn't keep you awake." He made his toss, but had no luck.

Furia just laughed lightly. "Speak of the devil."

The tiny Asian woman narrowed her eyes at the comment, then returned it with a string of Vietnamese that made Lucy smile widely. Now that things seemed back under control she stayed at the church and helped her mother out. It was like a really messed up version of a field hospital. Memo took the moment to stand and stretch his legs, noticing that once again Troy was making the rounds, too, wearing an all too stern scowl that seemed as unchanging as the Mona Lisa's unreadable expression.

Memo knew all the Lieutenant's and Julius were pissed. He and Furia had accidently caught the start of Julius's opinion earlier when he marched into his office yelling about the typical consequences of stealing from the Lopez Brothers. Dex had been the one that suggested moving their vibrant discussion, which left the Guerreros back out of the loop. Despite that, Memo had still heard the raised voices.

Peaches said it was kind of like listening to your parents fight the way the four of them went at it for more than an hour. Julius stormed out with one clear directive.

"Fix it, Dex. Before they come back here with more than just rockets and Molotov cocktails."

The only one left hanging around was Troy. But that did not surprise Memo. He was the trouble guy, or at least that had been how Bradshaw described himself the first time Guillermo met the man: _you get yourself jammed up, it doesn't matter how--cops, Kings, Carnales, a beef with one of the others, whatever--bring it to me. I'll fix it. Also if you've got questions, I'm your guy. Otherwise just do like Julius said, watch your back and ours, and you'll be fine._

Guillermo Guerrero smiled and shook his head as the thought jumped through his head. _Maybe that's why you get along so well with him._ He had grown up with that, though he never had to tell Furia when he got jammed up; she just always sort of knew, much to Memo's repeated chagrin. Even after the kids were split between the aunts and  uncles, she still found a way to know every stitch of trouble he tried to get into.

Usually she would let him find his own way out of it, but she always knew about it. Other times she would step in and drag him out by his ear. He could not help the laugh that accompanied the memory of the times she had literally done it. Memo had finally passed her in height that summer, and by the end of football season his sophomore year he was pushing over six-foot. Hanging with some of the guys from the team at this little abandoned spot on the north side of the island, they were just being rowdy--him and seven other football players. One of the guys had scored some party favors and before anything could even think of starting, the music ended with a crash.

Memo could still see it; Furia looked so pissed. She had brought that baseball bat, his baseball bat down on that radio so hard that most of it looked like plastic confetti. Gauging the crowd she stared right at him and lectured him in Spanish. The one guy in the group who knew the language put up his hands and stepped back. That kid was smart enough to know not to mess with a Latina on a rampage.

The other guys did not have the same experience markers. One of them got bold and stepped to her, threatened her, and told her to get lost. He was on the ground before Memo could intervene, but after that the posturing ended on the part of the athletes as she continued to lecture every damn one of them in English. Even now she could still make him feel like a little kid.

At six-foot-four, he loomed over his sister who was at best 5'8" or 9", but it did not matter when she got that look in her eye like she had that night. She had finished her lecture for the rest of them, reached up and smacked him on the side of his big head, which had been shaved at the time, making the swat sting that much more. Then she swatted him in the chest going off like Abuelita could when she was alive, before she grabbed him by the ear and twisted. Furia had practically thrown him into whatever car she had procured for the trip out there to the outskirts. Memo spent the inordinately long drive back to Antonio's in silence as he sulked and she fumed.

That had been an extreme case. Most of the time her presence or that disapproving look she seemed to have inherited from their grandmother--the one that made you want to curl up inside yourself and just cry--was all she needed to jerk him back into line. But that look. He hated when she broke that one out of the box. It was this haunting mix of disappointment, adoration, and pain that just made him and his brothers stop and rethink. Their sister Socorro seemed to be the only one immune to it.

The vibration of his phone in his pocket redirected Memo's attention.

"Híjole," he muttered as he glanced at the display. It took a little convincing for him to actually answer the call. "Tio! ¿Que tal?"

Memo held the phone away from his ear when the diatribe started. Where Furia's lectures tended to be calm and conducted in a normal volume or a quiet one that made you shut the hell up and listen. Antonio Guerrero was a master with a high black belt in yelling. His method centered on the theory that the louder he hollered the more likely the listener was to grasp the gist of what he was saying.

_"And where the hell is your sister?"_

That question Memo knew was not rhetorical. "She's fine, Tio. Some scratches, but nothing serious."

The little Asian woman still tending his sister seemed to have a different opinion and started her own little diatribe, though hers was directed at Furia and prompted an apologetic look to cross Lucy's face.

 _"I should not have had to call you,"_ Antonio warned. _"Do not make me have to chase you down again?"_

"Calm down. I got it."

_"I came home and turned on the news and every damn channel is talking about Mission Beach turning into a war zone. Crazy motherfuckers with rockets and assault rifles. They're still counting the bodies, Memito."_

"I know, Tio."

The man on the other end of the line growled at him, like he used towhen Memo was in high school. _"Why isn't your sister answering her phone?"_

That was actually a question he did not have an answer to. "Furia, where's your phone?"

She pulled it out of her pocket and let loose a string of curses. Showing it to him, Memo could not help but laugh at the destroyed little device.

"She broke it, Tio."

The yelling started again and Memo held the phone away. Furia smiled crookedly at him and shook her head. She did not have to ask who it was.

 _"Tell her that is no excuse. I swear the two of you are going to be the death of me."_ With that Memo knew the lecture was over. Antonio asked a few calmer questions before the call ended.

"Nice move with the phone. You did that on purpose, didn't you? Just to get out of taking Antonio's call." Memo chided, walking back over to the sofa.

"Hell yes!"

He grabbed up his stack of cards from the arm of the sofa and sat next to her. Mrs. Nguyen left, but Lucy stayed and joined their game. As morning crept over the church, others wandered in and out, though once Mikey and Peaches arrived they stayed; they also brought a truckload of coffee and donuts from Apollo's, which made them everyone's favorite arrival.

Furia took a sip from the cup Peaches handed her and her face turned sour. "I think you gave me the wrong cup, mujer."

Turning the one in her hand, the strawberry-blonde laughed and traded them out with an apologetic grimace. "Sorry."

"What the hell is in that cup?" Furia asked after a test sip of the second cup.

"Double half-caff dark chocolate cherry soy latte," Peaches said as she pulled one of the chairs opposite Julius' desk across the room.

His sister just blinked at her friend for a long moment before looking at Mikey. "Seriously? What the hell happened to coffee?" She shook her head and sipped at her cup. "That was worse than licking the counter of a candy store."

"Oh! Come on, Furia," Peaches replied with a nearly disgusted look. "It's not that bad. It was their weekly special concoction."

"Concoction seems like the right word. Conjures up images of three black clad witches around some smoking cauldron. _Double double toil and trouble. Fire burn and cauldron bubble,_ " Furia said in a gravelly voice. She leaned forward and looked at her friend's cup curiously. "Any eye of newt in that thing?"

"No!"

"You sure? I mean it is Apollo's after all."

"You are pure evil," Peaches said, setting her cup on the floor.

Furia laughed. "I was just kidding, Sweetie. Drink your… whatever that is, because coffee it is not."

"You know, for a second I almost felt bad that those guys blew you up."

Handing Memo her cup, Furia stood, laughing the entire time, and walked over and hugged her friend playfully before she slipped onto her lap. "What happened to us?" his sister said in a mockingly pained voice. "Just yesterday I had my hand between your thighs. And you were pledging your devotion to me."

Memo choked. Lucy blanched, but Mikey snickered and shook his head.

"What?" Furia asked, scandalized, as she kicked Mikey's chair. "It must have been good, five minutes with me and she was ready to leave you."

"You keep telling yourself that," Mikey replied with a confident little grin.

"Oh, do tell, Papí."

Furia slid her arm around Peaches' neck and leaned her cheek against her friend's temple as she stared at the kid. Memo knew what she was doing. She would never ask the question, but Mikey would tell her the answer anyway. After a minute, she whispered something to the woman whose lap she was in then crossed the room again as the girl's face went scarlet.

"About damned time." Furia took her cup back and leaned her shoulder against her brother's.

 

**-2-**

After nearly forty hours conscious, Furia indulged in a love affair with her bed totally embracing the fact that her phone had been destroyed. The incessant buzzing cut through the quiet dreaming. Furia groaned into the pillowcase, but whoever stood at the door downstairs was insistent. Heavily, she slithered out from under the blankets and stumbled toward the door.

"Please stop touching the button," she grumbled groggily.

"Girl! Goddamnit, you scared the shit out of me."

Furia let her head fall against the wall. "Come on up."

She buzzed her friend in then unlocked the door before she headed for the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Opening the freezer she tugged out a little bag of goodies and dropped a few on a baking sheet. The door slammed.

"What the actual fuck?" Ginger said.

Furia turned on the oven and looked over at her friend with a question on her face.

"I've been calling you."

"I destroyed my phone," Furia replied.

"And you couldn't call me and say, _hey I'm still alive_?"

Turning and leaning against the counter, Furia looked over at her friend.

"Sweetie, what happened to you?"

She sighed, letting her shoulders drop slightly. "Things got kind of weird. I got hurt, just a little concussion."

"You look like hell."

Furia knew she was covered in little scratches and scrapes, along with other signs of injury. She had seen the worry and heard about the concern of the people around her. Hell, at this moment she was getting to see it firsthand. Watching the pain and worry flit across her oldest friend's face felt a little like an accusation, like the personification of the worry her uncle hinted at just after Furia joined the Saints.

"I know," the ebony-tressed woman said resignedly, rubbing her forehead as the oven pinged the end of its preheat cycle. She slid the pan into the appliance to reheat the empanadas she had frozen the last time she happened to make a batch. Furia had a tendency to cook for an army and when she did a lot of it wound up frozen or given away to friends and family. "I'm still figuring things out, and sometimes it gets a little sideways."

"Sideways at the bar just meant that you'd smell like stale beer all night," Ginger said with a giggle, leaning back against the counter opposite her friend.

Furia just chuckled. "Those were the days, huh?"

"Oh, let me tell you," her friend said with a bare laugh. After a moment, Ginger crossed the space quickly and hugged Furia tightly. "I'm so glad you're all right."

"Me, too," she replied, holding onto her friend.

Ginger slapped her on the shoulder playfully. "Next time, call me."

"I will," Furia promised.

"Good." The redhead swiped at her eyes then grabbed two mugs from the cabinet. "I take it I woke you."

"That obvious?" the darker haired woman asked, tugging at the colorful oversized t-shirt she had fallen asleep in.

"The outfit does give you away."

Furia chuckled and pulled the baking sheet out of the oven. "And here I thought I was rocking the nightwear."

"Oh, totally."

The two sat at the table with their quick makeshift breakfast. Ginger leaned forward, picking at one of the fruit empanadas as they talked about some of the less distrurbing things that happened. Furia merely sipped at her coffee, while the redhead wondered over the resulting state of the neighborhood. It was a question in Furia's mind as well.

Places that had welcomed the Saints before might be laoth to do so after having been targeted by a pissed off rival, of course it also made Furia wonder if she would mar places like Poppy's with her presence in the future because it could be a dangerous prospect for the workers and patrons. Or maybe the Saints would just need to be more careful in their dealings, though how do you really disguise or hide an attempt to encroach on others' territory or business interests. Most of these thoughts Furia kept to herself. They were not something Ginger likely wanted to know, and they were certainly not something her friend needed to know.

Ginger left for her early shift, leaving Furia to decide if she would waste away in her apartment another day or if she would do what she knew she should and venture out. Within an hour of her friend's departure, Furia was showered, dressed, and walking toward the church on Third Street. The guttural growl of a powerful engine purred up the road toward her. She did not need to look to know who it was; that engine was as distinctive as the ringtone she had set for its owner on her dead phone.

"Where you headed?" Troy asked as he let the car coast slowly while she continued to walk.

"The church. Figured I'd see what it was Dex had been planning before all hell broke loose."

"He kind of put a pause on that. Julius has him checking on our interests. See how hard they hit us and what precisely it's going to take to recover."

That made her stop walking. "Anyone been by the diner since it happened?"

"Couple of the guys helped Jay board it up before anyone got in there and did anymore damage or ran off with anything."

She walked toward the stopped car and set her hands on the driver's door. "Like closed?"

"Not quite. Just sealed up. Some of the crew have already started chipping in cash to help with the repairs, others are calling in favors with people to help put things back together. It's happening all over the neighborhood."

Furia's eyes tracked a patrol car that slowed, the two officers eyed her. She smiled a mite sarcastically and waved.

"And then there's that," Troy explained, watching the black and white as it turned the corner. "Increased patrols."

"Not that it would matter much if our friends in red popped back up." She looked back at him. "So what are you doing in my neighborhood at this ungodly hour?"

"Didn't have another way to reach you so I figured I'd make a house call," he said. "And since things are dead for a bit. Figured it was the perfect time to see a man about a car, and we could look into a phone, too. If you're feeling up to it."

Furia laughed and straightened. "Sure. One of those was on my list today anyway. And a ride, even if it's in the passenger seat, is better than walking in the cold."

When she got in the car, the question that lingered in her mind since she climbed out of the shower feeling like herself prodded at her again. Its adamancy increased with the way fatigue seemed to cling to Troy. His face looked a little more drawn than usual, his eyes a bit more dull.

"Do you guys know …?" She did not want to say the words: _how many we lost_?

Troy's hand tightened on the steering wheel and she guessed that he knew what she was asking.

"Looks like near twenty on our side. Mostly over by the freeway. We got really lucky." He did not sound convinced of that fact though.

"That's a lot."

His jaw flexed tightly. "Yeah, mostly new kids, too," he said matter-of-factly, staring at the road.

"¡Dios!"

She did not know if that was better or worse. Furia knew it was just as bad either way. For her the information was easier to take as a number, which kept her from asking for names. Though Troy would know the names, she knew, or at least the faces. Every time they canonized new blood, he and some of his guys would take them for a walk or a drive, just like he had with her. All the Saints knew his role, though Furia had not thought about it until that moment. Troy knew them all--every Saint, alive, as well as the ones not so lucky.

 _How many times have you had that conversation you had with me? Telling some cherry it was cool, everyone gets sick the first time. Just how many people have you talked off that ledge?_ She wondered as they drove. But then she knew the answer, almost all of them. Just about every single person that passed through that church, that claimed to be one of the Third Street Saints, spent at least five minutes with Troy getting the spiel and the name and number to call when shit went bad, weird, or downright ugly.

"How's the head?" he asked.

"Fine. I almost feel human," she admitted with a laugh.

"Wow, guess Lucy's mom really is a miracle worker."

Furia smacked him on the arm.

"Ow! Driving here."

"Is that what you call what you're doing?"

He turned and eyed her sharply.

She tipped her head at him and smirked. "The way you were taunting Vu made it sound like didn't always drive like someone's grandmother who could barely see over the steering wheel."

"I'm not going to bite, Furia," Troy warned.

 _You did the other night,_ she thought errantly then cringed remembering the little reminder he had managed to leave her with. "So what was that, by the way?"

"Bravado," he said in a short clipped manner.

"Mmhmm. You taunt Vu and he lays a hefty side bet with you and you expect me to believe that was _all_ machismo." She knew some of it was, certainly, but there was more to it.

"Let's just say, you're not the only one who can appreciate a car that moves and leave it at that."

"If you appreciate them," Furia said, leaning on the console between them, "then why do you hem them in?"

"Because doing fifty in a residential neighborhood draws attention. The wrong kind of attention," he replied, glancing over at her as he shifted toward the window.

She took the hint and leaned back in her seat to enjoy the rest of the ride. Hercules' lot was in the barrio, just a little hole in the wall place with a decent selection of cars. Bradshaw opted to park on the street rather than in the densely packed lot. When Furia reached for the door, Troy grabbed her arm.

"Just so you know. Julius is spreading the word to give the Los Carnales a wide berth for a while. So you might want to lose Vu's number," Troy advised.

"You know between my brothers, my uncles, and my cousins. I've got more than I can handle of overprotective men with a penchant for telling me what I should and should not do. If, however, I find myself in need of more, I'll put you on the waiting list." Furia pushed the door open and yanked her arm out of his grip.

Not having a cell phone did not keep her from a barrage of calls and visits over the last few days. When she put her apartment phone back on the hook, it was a steady stream. Even Maximo called from up the coast. Ginger had reached maximum patience after the ten o'clock news did a piece about the effects of the _gang violence that turned Mission Beach into a warzone_. The worry and concern heaped on her frayed Furia's nerves. The lectures pissed her off a little and the judgment did not set well either, though that was mostly limited to Antonio. The last thing she needed right now was Troy, Johnny, or Julius trying to be all big brother when she did not even want it from the people with the right to exercise that kind of opinion.

Bradshaw did not take the hint; she barely got two steps before his hands were on her again--gripping her upper arms. This time he steered her backwards a few steps until she was stuck between him and the side of the Bootlegger.

"This isn't about you. This is about keeping all the Saints safe, and you're a Saint. The Los Carnales targeted _all of us_. So Julius wants _all of us_ to exercise caution right now. There's more bad blood than normal between us and them right now. You add that to a race and things are going to get too ugly too fast. I'm passing on the message," Troy explained.

His grip on her arms loosened as the ferocity in his gaze gave way to the tiredness she picked up on earlier.

"Fine," she replied much more calmly.

He took a step to the side then leaned against the car. Bradshaw tucked his hand in his pocket, coming up with his cigarettes and lighter. "Hercules said he has four that sounded like they would work--two Hammerheads, a Vegas, and a Voxel."

"A Voxel?"

Troy shrugged at her. "They can hold their own."

"Maybe in a straight-up drag."

"They handle pretty well," he said around the cigarette between his lips, cupping his hand around it and the lighter. "But either way he said the bodies are in good shape and the engines aren't totally shot."

"Heya, Troy," a large black man greeted from the other side of the low metal and concrete fence. "This your girl?"

"Yeah, this is the one I told you about."

The Saints' second introduced the two as the man looked her up and down for a moment. "Not a lot of girls your age have quite such specific tastes."

"Yeah, well, a lot of girls drive like me," Furia returned coolly.

The older man chortled lightly and gestured for her to join him. "Troy mentioned that. He said you were looking for something to doll up. You race?"

"Among other things."

Deep down she knew Troy was right about the Voxel. It wasn't too bad. Hell, it was Lin's bread and butter. Furia recalled the conversation the two had shared in the tea house as she actually seriously considered the import. Furia never owned a car before, this would be her first. After the test drive, the young woman decided the Voxel just did not really feel like her. Nor did the Vegas, which left her to chose between the white Hammerhead convertible that looked like the top had been left down in the rain one too many times, and a big orange hardtop whose interior had been completely stripped. Before she took it for a solo spin around the block, Hercules warned her the driver's seat was not even on the track--it had been like trying to drive in a Tilt-A-Whirl.

Standing between the two vehicles, staring at the front ends, Furia found herself torn. The convertible was gorgeous--a newer model year than the orange beast. But the hardtop, relic that it was, held a sexy surprise. The original Yemiker engine under the hood meant that, if he wanted, Hercules could jack up the price on her. The best part--the engine still sounded absolutely beautiful. She hoped it was a sign that it was still in good shape. The white one ran the newer redesign of that type of engine, but it did not sound the same. It purred, but it lacked the menacing undertone that the original version rumbled with.

"Touch call?" Troy asked, crossing the lot, looking at his watch.

"The toughest," Furia replied.

Troy just laughed.

"What?"

"And here I thought only shoes did this to women."

She swatted at him and he dodged her this time. "Culo," she quipped.

"I figured it would come down to these two."

"What can I say? I have simple tastes," Furia said, finally making her decision.

"Hardly," he countered as he followed her toward the office. Hercules had left her to her meditation not long after the last test drive, because no matter what he told her about the cars Furia knew it was going to all come down to feel.

 

**-3-**

"Who the fuck is this?" Lin barked as she answered her phone.

_"Kill me. I blew up my phone."_

"No, shit." The undercover Saint strolled away from the group of blue-clad fools stroking each other's egos while they drooled on one another's mediocre cars. "I heard about what went down. Everything kosher?"

 _"Mostly,"_ Furia replied.

Lin wanted to ask about the phone, it sounded like a story and a half, but she could not afford to revel in anything that might suggest her true allegiances. "I'd love to hear about the phone thing some time."

_"Hell, yeah. It's a date. Anything I should know about?"_

"Yep. Tonight. In Tidal Springs. And you might be in luck. There's some new blood that are very proud of their mediocre cars."

 _"Damn. That would be the perfect set up. Let me see what I can scrape together,"_ Furia said with a hint of frustration.

"Well, do what you can."

"Lin! Hey Lin!" a little petite girl named Meiko called from the picnic tables in the park. "Come here!"

"Give me a sec," Lin called back to the girl. "I'll see you when I see you."

 _"Take care of you, mujer,"_ Furia concluded.

Lin slid her phone into the pocket of her blue track pants and crossed toward the girl with short, spiky blue hair. When Meiko noticed her approach, the girl started waving frantically. So, Lin hurried, feigning enthusiasm. The Japanese girl grabbed Lin by the arm and pulled her close then pointed towards the cars less than ten feet away.

"See the guy in the blue racing pants?"

"Yeah," Lin replied with an obvious lack of interest.

"That's him. That's Donnie." Meiko let go of the other woman's arm and set her elbows on her knees before dropping her chin on her upturned hands. "He is so cute."

"Yeah, whatever." Lin hopped up onto the table and leaned back, looking up at the darkening sky. She pulled her sunglasses off her collar before zipping up her hoodie as Meiko punched her on the thigh.

"He's brilliant. They say he's the best tuner on the east coast."

"Yeah, right." The Saint in blue rolled her eyes and watched the guy Meiko had pointed out. He didn't look like all that much. _He's probably no better than all the rest of these idiots. All ego and pocketbook with zero talent and less skill. Wouldn't know a tuner or a driver if they sat on his face._

The other girl leaned toward Lin. "They say he and Joey are best friends," Meiko whispered.

"Joey?"

"You know? Big Joey," the girl said raising her eyebrows. "The guy who's in charge."

"Oh that Joey," Lin replied trying to play it off. She looked at Donnie again--short, scrawny, goofy hair, despite that he was not a complete loss.  _Yeah. I can work with that._

"Some of the guys say Donnie's the only person Joey let's touch his cars, especially after that thing with the dealership."

"That was a crying damn shame. I can't believe someone did that to a beautiful machine like that. Such a waste."

"I know. They say he was nearly inconsolable." Meiko straightened when the group of guys, including the mechanic approached the table. While Meiko went for demure, Lin opted to try aloof. _It might work_ , Lin thought as she slid her sunglasses on.

"Hiya Donnie."

"Hey Meiko. How's Benny?"

Lin looked away for a second trying not to laugh. Meiko and her ex had a bit of a falling out over the fact that he thought winning a race meant he could celebrate with whoever he could convince into his bed. She, of course, had other ideas and was looking for something a little different. A lot of the girls talked about Donnie being like the prize in a box of rotten Cracker Jacks. He did not have the reputation for catting around like a fair number of the drivers in the crew.

"He's fine, I guess. I wouldn't know," the girl replied in an attempt to make the lack of connection crystal clear.

"That your Voxel out there?" he asked, looking over at Lin.

When she her eyes met his, Donnie's eyes darted away quickly. _Interesting_. "Yeah. Why?"

"You beat Stevie the other night, right?"

"Of course."

He grinned a little then let it fade. "Well, I'd like to see the engine that beat one of mine."

Lin heard Meiko huff a little when the driver climbed off the table. "Sure."

They walked over to her little blue and white beauty. While she released the latch, he loosened the catches. She joined him near the nose when he lifted the hood. Donnie leaned over it silently as she observed him. The Rollerz mechanic showed no reaction initially, bending his head this way and that to get a better look, and reaching out tentatively from time to time.

He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest still staring at her Voxel's engine. "Goddamn. This is hot," Donnie said a little breathlessly.

"I know, right?" Lin agreed with a lusty smile.

"Who tuned her?" he asked, looking at her.

"I did," she replied venomously, setting a fist on her hip and glaring at him.

He blushed a little and looked back under the hood. "That's … umm ... You're good."

With the way most of the guys reacted, the compliment took her completely by surprise. "Thanks."

Donnie cast her a bashful smile before he started firing questions at her. He asked about everything from the choice of tires, to her preferences for tools. They discussed the bore, the horsepower, the nitrous system which she ran herself, and even the body modifications she chose. Since she joined up with the Rollerz it was the first time anyone ever believed her when she told them she tweaked this car. And the shy way he asked her why she made the choices she did was almost endearing.

The conversation ended when his phone went off. It was the first indication for either of them of precisely how long they had been talking.

"Oh shit," Donnie said as he pulled the phone out of his pocket. "Hey man. Yeah, sorry. I … umm …" He rubbed at the back of his neck and looked at her awkwardly before he turned. "I got distracted by this gorgeous little number. Yeah, I'll be there shortly."

Lin closed her hood and leaned on the driver's side of the car. When he finished his call, she asked, "Need a ride to the race?"

"Uh… Yeah. That'd be great. Thanks."

"Get in."

When she started the car, she could not help but smile when she heard him sigh softly.

"I know," she agreed.

He smiled and blushed hotly again. _Meiko was right, he is kind of cute._

When they pulled onto the side street not far from Technically Legal, she was a little surprised to see a small pack of purple. Smack dab in the center of it was Troy's little black Bootlegger, though the big shock was that she did not see its owner. Furia and a handful of other Saints were all gathered together in their own little section of the block.

Lin parked and Donnie complimented her car again before he disappeared into a sea of blue. The Saint stared longingly at the half dozen people wearing purple. She only recognized Memo and Dean-O, aside from Furia. But whoever the other three were the whole group seemed close. She missed that the most.

The Rollerz were a different breed, more about the individual than the whole group. The entire gang kind of ran on the race mentality. First place was the only spot that mattered, and every damn one of them were vying, fighting, and scratching for whatever versions of that coveted spot they desired--drivers, boosters, shooters, even dancers.

 _God, I miss the Row. Even Johnny's bullshit comments about her fighting style would be better than this lonely island bullshit_ , she thought as she pushed away from her car and wandered toward a cooler.

 

**-4-**

Furia twirled the keys around her finger as she trotted up the stairs. The elevator would be quicker but she was still running on enough adrenaline to keep her awake for hours. There was no answer after the first knock, so she pounded on the door with her fist the second time. It made her fairly certain she should have gone with her instinct and called first. She chewed at her bottom lip for a moment.

"This better be fucking good!" yelled a stern voice from the other side of the barrier.

The yell halted her move for her phone and made her laugh. She leaned against the doorjamb as the locks started sliding. When Troy yanked the door open, he froze as she dangled his keys at him.

"Full tank. And not a scratch, except for that little love tap from after the Carnales race. Added bonus, I've already talked to Miguel about that. And he says he could hammer it out in no time, just tell him when. And it's on me," Furia said by way of greeting.

Bradshaw stood there for a moment blinking at her before he took his key ring off her index finger. She let her eyes run their course. His jeans hung low on his hips and she finally got an unhindered view of the chest her hands had spanned across the last time they went racing. The big greenish black outline of a shamrock on his left shoulder was a bit of a surprise. When her gaze met his, he cocked an eyebrow at her.

 _What? You're the one that answered the door half dressed,_ she thought as she held his gaze.

"Did you win?"

With a smirk, she blinked slowly at him. "Of course."

He smiled at her; she assumed it was due to the cocky note in her voice.

"You busy tomorrow?" he asked, leaning on the door.

A little wave of tension rolled up her spine, sapping at the giddy adrenaline high she was still enjoying. "Why?"

"The McManus."

"Forgot about that. I'm not sure, depends on how things go for this thing Johnny has me on."

"With Helmers?"

She nodded. "Lucy, Peaches, and I are going to see if we can't knock it out rather quickly."

"You three, really? You don't think that's asking for trouble?"

"Only a little. But we get a different kind of trouble when we bring the boys. Then it's obvious what we're doing." Furia shrugged one shoulder at him. "But three females, looking a certain way, talking to other women looking a certain way doesn't really raise flags with the pimps or the security. Looks more like a discussion about territory."

"You're out of your mind," Troy declared, straightening.

"Maybe a little," she said with a smile. _Maybe a lot,_ another part of her brain opined as she studied the slope of his collarbone.

"Well, avoid the cops up there."

"Like the plague," she quipped with a grimace. She noticed the little twitch in the muscle of his shoulder. "Sorry I woke you. And I'll text you if we get clear early enough to make it worth the drive."

"You do that," he replied. "And be a little bit careful."

"Sure, Troy. But only because you asked so nice," she teased. "Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite."

Furia waved her fingertips at him then strolled back down the hall toward the elevator. On the way down, the usual voice that lectured her about doing things like freely ogling a shirtless and sleep-addled Troy Bradshaw was surprisingly silent. Of course that sight was a fantastic night cap to a pretty stellar evening. With that thought, she pushed it a step too far, she realized, as that voice cropped back up.

She sighed at herself, and pulled up the hood of her jacket as she exited the building. Having called the cab company before she even got to Troy's she was fairly certain, she would not have to wait much longer, especially since she had given her usual incentive. Furia stamped her feet against the cold as she paced a little patch of concrete on the north side of the building.


	21. Trojan Horses of a Different Color

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life and work must go on, even if it is not conducted completely in the open. Furia redirects her focus on a task Johnny set her on while Dex gets his plan in shape. Once he's ready to hit the Los Carnales plant, he decides to the new standout in a precarious position.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again many thanks to the lovely Chy for her time and willingness to let me spam her inbox as well as her companionship on the silly little road I travel when writing sometimes. Oh, and a side note, it would seem that things are slowing again for Furia so beware the updates may not be quite so frequent as they have been of late. And I apologize for the worst chapter title ever.

**21 Trojan Horses of a Different Color**

**-1-**

The building did not make much of an impression. Nor did the neighborhood, and Ekaterina was not sure she felt entirely comfortable parking her car there, even right in front of the building. She tagged the buzzer for the apartment number that Furia had given her over the phone and was let in almost immediately. The interior of the building darkened significantly, making her a little more cautious as her eyes adjusted. The blonde knocked cautiously on the door when she reached the landing of the top floor.

"It's open," Furia called from within.

Ekaterina pressed at the partially open door slowly. The difference between the dank feel of the building lifted when she entered the small apartment. Tall windows let in a great deal of morning light, and despite the dark floors the space felt warm and cozy. Of course, part of that was likely due to the wonderful smells emanating from the kitchen.

"You cook?" Ekaterina asked carefully.

Furia flashed a smile over her shoulder. "Sometimes."

"Well, it smells incredible."

"Thank you. Do you want some coffee?"

"Very much."

Another woman was sitting at the table, yawning widely behind her hand. "G'morning. I'm Peaches," she introduced, reaching across the expanse to offer her hand.

"Ekaterina."

Not long after another young lady arrived. The blonde's eyes moved over the shorter girl whose dark hair was highlighted with streaks of purple. She was dressed like a bad cliché: fishnets, very tiny leather shorts and a top that just would not do for the chilly weather in the forecast. She chuckled under her breath at the girl the others called Lucy, the poor thing. _Sweet face. Bad taste_. And her inexperience shone like a beacon.

"Was that what you were planning to wear?" Ekaterina asked and all three of them stopped and looked at the blonde.

"Uh, yeah. I thought--"

The Ukrainian beauty shook her head at the younger woman. "You will stick out like a sore thumb on that side of town, well, at least before dark. It really is just a mite on the trashy side."

Lucy's jaw dropped, but Furia chuckled.

"Don't worry though. We'll fix it."

"After breakfast," Furia announced as she walked toward the table with plates.

"I still cannot get over this," Ekaterina said. "I would not figure a woman with your reputation could cook." Her words melted into a low moan with the first bite.

"I have a big family, which meant we all had to help in the kitchen." Furia brought another set of plates and set down with them.

Ekaterina only ever saw her driver as that. After that first afternoon, she had asked around about her and learned that Furia's reputation was solid and growing. She assumed that someone affiliated with a street gang might be a little less--domestic. And feminine, she thought as she watched the Latina at the table. Her motions in this sphere seemed delicate, almost dainty. Her hands were quite lovely, but until that moment Ekaterina had only seen them gloved.

"So why are we doing this in the morning?" Lucy asked. "I mean, what kind of hookers are we going to be able to find at nine am?"

"Clean ones, usually," Peaches replied.

"She's right. These are the women that want to work," Ekaterina agreed.

"Whatever their reasons," Peaches added, lowering her voice slightly as she spoke into her coffee cup.

That seemed to stem Lucy's curiosity about the timing of their excursion.  Peaches turned the conversation to the food, gushing about it to the point that it finally made Furia blush from the praise. After eating their fill and clearing the table, the four of them retired to the bedroom and Ekaterina forced herself to start with Lucy.

"You want to play up your strengths dear, and that top just takes away, though the shorts were a good call," the blonde lectured as she went through some of the items available to her, which included a bag Ekaterina had brought with, as well as Peaches' backpack. Furia also offered up her own closet, though she was surprised to find it overpowered by clothing much too large for any of them, including the owner.

"You want to look sexy, not necessarily garish. Tight, but not so tight you can't get it on or off easily. And you need to consider your timing and location. For daytime downtown, you're not going to want to dress like the ladies on the corners in Rebadeaux at two in the morning. The ladies working the business district during business hours are obvious in the most subtle ways than fishnets and booty shorts," Ekaterina said, shaking a chemise at Lucy.

"And with the shoes. For the sake of your own feet wear ones you can survive the day in."

As she helped the women chose something that would make them blend in, she offered a few other suggestions, like tying your coat closed rather than buttoning or zipping, it made it easier to open the window for the shoppers to ogle. Another marker was the hair. If you put it up, invariably some client would try to take it down. So Ekaterina preferred wearing hers down when she worked, and using almost nothing in it; that way she could run a brush through it and repair most traces. The same went for makeup, she wore very little when she worked--sticking to eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss. But she knew these were her preferences. Despite that, she offered the suggestions up to Furia and the other young women.

 

**-2-**

Peaches fidgeted at the mirror in the bathroom. Ekaterina's hands in her hair made her flinch slightly. The woman smiled gently, a smile too reminiscent of another woman's, another woman with the same profession. With a quick breath, the younger of the two walked out of the bathroom and into the kitchen.

Furia's apartment was just a tiny circle, which was a nice advantage in this case, because it did not feel crowded even though the small space was brimming with people at the time. Peaches could tell that Lucy was still feeling a little sulky about the prostitute's assessment of her initial outfit, though she did admit what the Ukrainian chose in the end looked a lot less cheap.

When the buzzer announced the arrival of the drivers Furia had chosen for this little diversion, they made their way downstairs carefully. Lucy was always bad in heels, and Peaches walked with her to help her keep her balance. She honestly expected Mikey and Dean-O to go against Furia's warning and make some kind of crack or comment, but they did not say a word.

"Oh, you employed your own drivers," Ekaterina said with a laugh as she looked at Furia.

"Well, they aren't really _our_ drivers. We're recruiting. They are relocating."

"Very nice." The blonde walked over to Mikey, who stood a little straighter as she approached.

Peaches noticed his eyes dart to hers just before the blonde angled his chin toward her. "Aren't you just the cutest little thing? So nervous it's almost tempting."

"Thank you, ma'am."

The last word made Ekaterina laugh as she turned to Dean-O. She did not say a word to him, though she did not need to. Dean rubbed at the back of his neck and glanced up at her shyly. She planted a little kiss on Mikey's cheek before she turned toward the baby pink Cosmos parked in front of the black sedans the boys had procured.

"Before I forget. The Sewing Club is meeting on Thursday. Are you going to be able to make it?"

Furia smiled and nodded. "It shouldn't be a problem."

"You sew?" Dean asked quietly as the blonde drove off.

"No. I drive."

"And cook," Lucy injected.

"Get in the cars."

Furia pushed Lucy into the backseat of Dean's car as Mikey opened the door for Peaches. There was concern in his eyes when he leaned on the car door.

"Mary, are you okay?" he asked softly. "With all this?"

Every once and a while Peaches could not help but be surprised by Mikey. He seemed way too sweet to be real.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"I just thought with--"

She kissed him quickly then slipped into the passenger seat. "I'm good. I swear, its fine. Now, get in the car."

"Yes, ma'am."

Peaches blushed when he closed the door with a sly little wink. When Mikey started the car, she leaned against his shoulder, taking a great measure of comfort in his presence. Even so she knew what she told him was only marginally true. She was uncomfortable, but not about the job. The situation of it all hit a little close to home for Peaches.

Once they got downtown the girls left the boys to their own devices in the back parking lot of City Hall. The three females strolled toward the central business district looking for Helmers' girls. It felt a little strange for her.

"Why are we even doing this?" Lucy asked. "I mean Helmers is a troll."

"It could be worse," Furia said.

"She's right," Peaches agreed. "He's not all that bad. He takes care of his people."

Lucy looked at her with a furrowed brow.

"What?"

Her good friend eyed her incredulously.

"I know some of these girls," Peaches said by way of explanation.

Both of them stared at her, though neither of them asked the questions that seemed to be written all over their faces. Lucy certainly would ask later, but Peaches knew Furia would not, though the young woman would likely freely tell the older woman about how she spent months on the street with these girls. But the answers Peaches really wanted were not to be found, sadly.

Lucy spotted while Furia chatted up an older blonde. The woman's face, her mannerisms, but most of all it was the reasons she claimed--the twin girls in pigtails--that made Peaches shift uncomfortably as the woman spoke with the oldest of the three Saints. It felt a little too close to home for her. It was a story she knew, well enough. It was her own childhood, or at least the side of it she did not know about until too late.

What Peaches knew was that her mom walked her to school every morning, and picked her up after. She helped her with homework and attended all the parents' nights at school. Her mother was just there, until she wasn't. That's when she found out precisely what her mother did for a living and quite how she was able to be that attentive.

When she noticed Furia's keen eyes on her, the young woman straightened and hazarded a glance up the street. She nodded slightly, signaling that street was still clear. The working girl that Furia spoke to started up the street toward the courthouse a few minutes later.

The quiet voice seemed to echo in her head when Furia leaned toward Peaches. "Are you all right, Sweetie? You look a little--"

"No. No, I'm good," she replied, noticing her voice crack.

Furia gestured at Lucy and Peaches was certain that her friends heard the indication of her anxiousness. "I think half a dozen girls is a good number for today. Too many and then the pimps will get wise. And I'd rather avoid going all wild west this close to two buildings brimming with cops, if it can be avoided."

Lucy called Mikey, who had taken the first group of girls to the brothel. He was going to be their ride back to a more comfortable neck of the woods. The quick conversation between Furia and her boyfriend did not go unnoticed. After dropping the others off at the church, Mikey took Peaches home. It was one of those times she really appreciated his overdeveloped gentlemanly streak.

 

**-3-**

The next morning, after watching the weather report, Furia had no intention of braving an excursion in the barrio in a tiny skirt. That was just not going to happen, so she dug out the very tight jeans Nico had chosen for her instead. Grabbing her coat on the way out, she trotted down the stairs as she slipped it on. When she pulled open the front door, she stopped cold at the sight of the man standing outside her building. It was starting to get a bit eerie.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Good morning to you, too," Troy replied with a sly little grin.

His eyes dipped to the leopard print halter that was just barely visible beneath her coat.

"Buenas dias, jefe," she mocked. "What the fuck are you doing here?" She exited the building and pulled the door closed behind her, checking to make sure the automatic lock caught.

"Dex is ready to do … whatever the hell it is he's planning," Troy said, standing at the bottom of the steps.

"I take that to mean he hasn't been forthcoming with you either."

The derisive little snort confirmed that Dexter Jackson seemed to be keeping everyone out of the loop.

"And here I thought it was just me," Furia opined as she beat him to the punch and got into the car before he told her to. "You could have called. I'd have worn something a little less …"

Furia paused to consider just the right word and Troy glanced at her as the engine roared to life. "I'm not sure you could get much less," he offered.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Listillo," she grumbled. And he just laughed.

"If you're going to keep calling me that, you're going to need to tell me what it means."

"I'm not the only person you know that speaks Spanish."

He shook his head at her and started the car, letting that topic drop. The silence did not last long, but she had not expected it to. Troy usually only showed up on her doorstep with good reason, though she liked the previous impetus for that behavior much better than the current. The tension in him seemed to suggest that something big was going down.

"I don't know what Julius is thinking," Troy said as they drove toward the church. "Cleaning up the Row is fine, but this drug shit." He shook his head and looked at her seriously. "You don't fuck with Hector Lopez. If you do, he won't stop until you're dead or he is, which means there is only one way for this to play out."

"Then we need to make sure it's him and not us," Furia clarified.

"Great theory. In practice, however, it's never that easy. These guys have been the major players in the Stilwater drug scene for decades. These are not some little hot shots in their Daddy's car. These are some bona fide crazy motherfuckers."

"It's like Johnny said about King--bullets still kill people."

Troy grimaced. "Not Victor Rodriguez."

"He's the one that the Vice Kings couldn't kill, right?" Furia asked. When Troy nodded, so did she.

"They've been gunning for him years. Legend has it the cat just shrugs off bullets."

"No one shrugs off bullets, not even Johnny, though he'd deny that," Furia replied, tapping her thumb on the car door. "But after their little visit the other day, I can see your concern. That was uglier than anything I expected."

"All in retaliation for that damn truck's cargo." Troy flicked the cigarette through the crack in the window.

"Didn't Dex say what it was carrying was a bonus. He really just wanted the truck?"

"Yeah, but why?"

Furia stared out the window. "Can't say for sure. But I can think of a few reasons."

"Care to enlighten me?" he asked as they pulled up outside the Saints' HQ.

"Why guess when we'll know soon enough?" She stepped out and walked toward the steps.

Troy followed her. He startled her when he leaned over her shoulder and said, "You're almost as bad as him."

"I resent that implication," she replied with a shiver.

"Resent it all you want. You know you play things just as close to the vest as he does."

"I do not."

Troy just laughed as the two of them entered the church and headed right for Dex's office. The yelling broke her stride.

"Why are we waiting? We should hit those motherfuckers now!" Johnny barked, punctuating his statement with a punch to the makeshift desk. The gesture jostled everything and left pens clattering to the floor as they rolled off the surface.

"They are expecting us to retaliate. We'll never be able to get near that operation with the way things are right now. Even if we laid out a good thirty of their boys in that attack the other day, you and I know that none of the guys they threw at us had even half a clue."

"He's right Johnny," Troy said, sliding past Furia. "Most of those guys that came through here were nothing but fodder."

"That explains why they were flooding in off the trains," Furia noted. "They were not expecting to take anything over, just throw enough guys at us to weaken our position. Like human buckshot."

Dex looked up from his map when he heard her voice. "Ah, just what I need. A distraction." The smile that crept across his face had her hackles up.

"Pardon?"

He waved her forward and she crossed the space under all their attention. "I need you and that little mini crew you're dicking around with to create some misdirection. Perform a little sleight of hand for me. I need you to pull their attention away from the factory district, so Encanto or Ezpata would be ideal. Make them look to the other side of town, far, far away from what we want." He tossed two well-worn and marked up maps her direction.

"And what pray tell are you wanting us to do?" she asked, studying the maps that bore familiar handwriting.

"Johnny," Dex said with a Cheshire-cat grin. "Did find what I asked you for the other day?"

"Yeah," he said cautiously as if suddenly uncertain about the request he fulfilled.

"Let's have it then."

Gat placed a bag on the table rather gingerly. Then Jackson gestured from Johnny to Furia. "A gift to create destruction and mayhem to pull their attention away from that plant."

"Wait a minute. I thought these were for this little party you're planning on the docks," Johnny countered.

Furia pulled open the small duffle and stared at it for a long moment. It was not quite the RPGs that the Carnales had brought into the Row, but the bag full of grenades made her chest tighten up.

"It is. In a roundabout way. Besides I don't want explosives in the warehouse. We're trying to minimize damage to the equipment there," Dex explained, turning his attention to the warehouse.

"Fine then. I'll go to the barrio--"

"Damnit Johnny. Julius wants us on the plant."

"And the two of you are going there. Furia can take her party to the docks with you guys and babysit your precious equipment, while me and my boys go blow some shit up and piss off motherfuckers in the barrio. It's more my style anyway," he said to Furia as an aside.

The Latina smirked and tipped her head in agreement. Gat had a point. Mass amounts of destruction and suicidal stands seemed right up his alley, much more so than hers.

"Look! The plan is set. Furia you're going to the barrio. Johnny, you , me, and Troy will take down the plant. End of discussion. Now, can we please move on with this?"

He went into a little more detail about the three-pronged assault he had planned. It offered a little more insight into a reason why he was adamant that the three lieutenants participate in that attack. He wanted people with experience in the plant; and from the layout of the place and the number of people they suspected to be guarding and working in the location. It seemed obvious that Johnny was actually going to be needed there. And sadly, Johnny could not be in two places at once.

Of course, Furia doubted that she could channel him in destructive capacity or the crazy motherfucker category, but given the number of grenades he had procured--maybe she could just come close. Troy ducked out of the office when his phone rang, which Furia took to mean that it was likely Julius, since she did not figure anyone else would be able to pull him out of a discussion like this. After Johnny grumbled something under his breath at Dex, he made his way out of the office and down the hall.

Furia grabbed the handle of the bag and lifted it carefully off the table. The last thing she really wanted to do was blow up the church and herself in the process.

"Hold up." Rounding the table, the strategist closed on her with his hand in his jacket pocket looking at her in a way that set her on edge. "I want you to keep the pressure on until we have everything under control. I really don't want any of these guys flying back home to roost, if you get my meaning?"

"Yeah. I got it."

"I'll call you once we're clear. Just so you know, though, it might take a while."

"I bet."

"Just concentrate on the big operations. They'll draw more heat. Those maps are really good and up to date so they will help. Text us once you've gotten their attention, then we can move."

"Will do."

"Bueno. Now go forth. Wreak havoc."

Furia spun and exited the room quickly. Her head swam; he wanted them in the crosshairs before the rest of the Saints made their move and the idea of it had her on edge. _He wants four of us to draw attention off the plant. Even with a bag full of grenades that seems a tall order._

Her jaw tightened as she walked deeper into the church. Troy exited Julius' office as she passed and he grimaced, leaning toward her.

"Look. Take Javier with you, he knows all the LC shit going down in that hood. That will help, and you'll be able to hit them where it hurts and localize the damage to their operations," he said in a voice above a whisper. "And if you go for the money makers first it will pull them out of their hole, then you can just maintain interest with some less high profile targets."

"Thanks for the advice," Furia said with a nod.

He looked like he still had something more to say, but Dex's voice carried down the hallway, tugging him back into a mindset to deal with whatever Jackson had in store for them. Bradshaw just grimaced and patted her on the shoulder as he passed by. When she got to the back room, Johnny looked a little more pissed than he had when he left the other office, but he also seemed overly prepared.

Four bags lay on the table. Each holding a metric fuck ton of ammunition from the open cabinets that Gat stood in front of like a connoisseur who sought out the perfect vintage. Furia never even thought about what he kept in those lockers until that moment when she saw them brimming with various brightly colored boxes of ammunition and clips for a myriad of weapons both empty and full.

"Gimme that," he said, turning and taking the bag before she could even offer it to him.

For a moment his frenzy stopped and he leaned on the table, staring at her. "I'm guessing you've never done something like this."

"You think?"

He scowled. "Tell me you don't throw like a girl."

"Fuck you."

His grin, as unsettling as it could be, offered her a measure of relief. "I figured with as many brothers as you have it was a safe bet. These are pretty easy. Pull the pin. Throw it, kind of overhand, like so," he said, demonstrating for her, "and then get the fuck down. Oh, twist when you pull the pin--it helps. Sometimes they can be a little stubborn."

"Sounds simple enough."

Gat's mouth pulled into a thin line. "Well it only sounds that way, trust me. And don't get too close to where you are throwing. You've already gotten yourself blown up once this week. If it happens again, I think you're brother might just blow a gasket."

She rolled her eyes at him.

"Look. I did not realize this was what Dex had up his sleeve. And since he seems hell-bent on sending you and your kiddies out there, just shut up and listen for once," he lectured, staring at her.

Furia stared at him for a moment. "Go on."

He laid a large rifle down on the table. "You're going in there with the intention of kicking a hornet's nest. Once they start buzzing full force no pistol is going to do the trick. You'll want that Spree or you're going to want this."

Johnny moved to stand beside her and gave her the twenty second beginner's lesson on assault rifles--how to load it, how to clear it, how to aim it. "It's a reliable weapon. You shouldn't have any issue, but if you do give it to Mikey. Boy's good. And you're going to want him to have one of these with, just in case," Gat stated laying the long black triangular soft case on the table "Believe me with him on this you'll only need one."

"Fucking Dex," he sighed and looked at the table for a long minute before facing her again. "Keep track of your people. Try not to get separated, you're going to need all the help you can get from the sound of it." He shook his head with a look that bespoke his irritation. "Just watch each other's backs. With four of you, it will be a blessing and a curse. You've got cover and muscle and things in between, but you're going to have a lot of guys coming at you. So use the environment."

She gasped with a look of mock surprise on her face. "Is Johnny Gat telling me to use cover and be careful?"

He tipped his head and cocked an eyebrow at her petulance

"Si. Okay, I read you."

"I'm not done," Gat said, straightening. "To get the guys out of the plant you are going to have to draw down a lot of heat. More than likely, you won't just be dealing with red, if you get my meaning."

"Cops?"

"Fucking A. And don't go thinking they've stopped looking for your pretty face. A few of the boys got dragged in on a speeding beef and saw your mug front and center like a goddamn billboard. Looks like they might still be pissed about that kid you punched out."

"That should make this _more_ interesting. Like I needed that," she grumbled.

"So just assume there might be a few of those gung ho bastards in the mix. And don't bunker up anywhere too long. Keep moving." He leaned on the desk and looked at her over the top of his sunglasses. "And if it gets too hot, get out. Whether you've gotten the all clear from Dex or not. It's your call. I don't want to lose any more good people to these coked up whack jobs."

"On that we can agree," Furia said, her worry dissipating barely.

"I know your first choice is going to be to not do this, but you need to take Memo on this little excursion." She started to protest but he held up his hand. "You can't think about him being your brother right now. You need the best, and the kid's fucking good--solid under fire, and packs one hell of a punch."

She stared at him and he chuckled at her.

"Save the fire for them, Sweetie. It's not going to work on me," he concluded with a wink.

When Johnny left, Furia pressed her palms against the plywood surface already bowing from the weight of the bags. The smaller ones Gat prepped had clips for Sprees and Vices, which about covered the usual span. She pulled her phone out and dialed Mikey first. He was actually at the church and came back to help her pull ammo for the quartet. Javier was close too, showing up just as they concluded the packing.

"Who's our fourth?" Mikey asked, grabbing the extra bag and the assault rifle they had pulled out.

Furia bit her lip hard and stared at her phone for a long moment before she dialed the very familiar number.

 

**-4-**

Wearing red made Gat itch, even if it was a loosely tied bandana that was going to be pulled off as soon as he got out of the truck. Johnny shifted awkwardly in the front seat before checking the AR-40 in his lap. The only thing he was at all concerned about with this plan was happening thirty blocks or so northeast of their destination and that was wholly out of his control. He took a deep breath and tried to redirect his mind to something he could exert a little force over.

With a glance to his left, Gat eyed the driver of the truck and sighed at him. Troy was taking his sweet assed time getting to the plant, but in part it was a calculated move. The truckload of Saints waited for the barrio crew's call before setting out at a leisurely pace.

"You drive like my grandmother," Gat grumbled finally after Bradshaw ignored the impatient signal the passenger offered.

"And you give Asian drivers a bad name," Troy returned as the truck turned onto Fox Drive.

"Why the hell are you driving anyway?"

"Because you're predictable. You cannot resist the temptation of the scissors."

"Man. Fuck you, Troy." _Rock, paper, scissors is a piss poor way to determine who gets to drive anyway._

The driver laughed. "Shoot it again. Hundred bucks says you can't choose anything but scissors."

"Shut up and get your gun out. I'm going to show you how this is done."

"Sure you are, Gat," Troy replied as he backed the truck up toward the dock.

"You feeling confident enough to put your money where your mouth is?"

Putting the truck in park, Bradshaw took up his own rifle with a grin. "Always."

"Fuck yeah. That's what I like to hear."

The sound of gunfire followed the grating noise of the rising cargo door on the truck. Johnny and his cohort exited the cab quickly and joined the Saints moving into the warehouse. The pack split into three and each lieutenant took their own teams through the plant. Johnny knew that he was not the only one on his crew or Troy's keeping a count, though he doubted that any of Dex's boys were doing anything of the like.

The plan was for each group swept their own levels. Bradshaw was in the lower levels, Johnny had the ground floor, and Dex headed upstairs to try and secure the offices and equipment controls. He wanted to salvage as much out of this place as possible. Johnny and Troy were content to send a clearer message to the Lopez brothers by creating the largest dockside bonfire possible in the metal-skinned building.

While moving through the loading area, Johnny sauntered slowly down the walkway lined with crates, shooting from the hip as people took their chance to take a shot at the bolder lieutenant. When his clip emptied, Johnny pressed his back to a crate and noticed his competitor, as it were, moving down a row toward the far side of the building. He had to admit Troy was effective; he usually at least gave Gat a run for his money when they did things like this. But he was much more cautious. With his rifle pressed tightly to his shoulder, Bradshaw moved from crate to pillar to wall, firing from cover.

With a shake of his head, Johnny was fairly certain he had this one in the bag. In a target-rich environment like this, Gat figured his style of _come and get it_ would win out over Bradshaw's peek-a-boo whack-a-mole method. The enforcer turned out of cover and restarted his trek through the main floor of the building with his crew in tow.

 

**-5-**

"You know I think that might just be too motherfucking precious for words," Julius opined as he walked into the back office where his lieutenants were gathered. Gat and Bradshaw were sitting on opposite sides of a table, each of them getting stitched up by the Nguyen women. Lucy's hands shook more than her mothers, which did not bode well for Troy.

"Are you two really so competitive that if one gets shot the other one has to aim for the exact same result?"

When Johnny started to speak, Julius looked at him in a way that discouraged any reply. Little walked over to Troy and looked at the extremely lucky hit then conducted a similar inspection of Gat.

"So what was the final count?" Jules asked.

"Even," Gat grumbled with a glare at Troy.

"Oh, save your fuck me eyes for somebody else, Johnny," Bradshaw shot back. He turned his head and lost his train of thought in the hazel eyes of the woman leaning just inside the door.

Julius' entrance had been so noticeable that Bradshaw missed Furia slipping in after him. She was not dressed like a woman who had just come from an assault. The white turtleneck sweater and black slacks suggested something on a whole other level from what he knew she had been part of about an hour earlier.

"Troy, you--" Johnny began again.

"Shut it, children! Dex, did you get what you needed?"

"Yeah, and then some. I've… We've got enough guys on the building to keep it under our control as well," Jackson noted.

"Jules," Furia said quietly from her leaning post.

"What's she doing here?" Dexter called, the irritation clear in his tone. Obviously Bradshaw had not been the only one to overlook her.

"Don't worry, Dex, I'll keep it short," she bit back with at least as much venom as was directed toward her. "Johnny, I put your gear in your office. I didn't know where all you wanted it, so I'm leaving you to stow it yourself. But I'm claiming that McManus for Mikey for a few days. I have something I'm going to need both for."

"What would that be?" Dex demanded.

Furia ignored him. "I'll call you when it's done, Julius."

Troy could not say he was surprised by her reaction to Dex. The errand he sent her on, while necessary, was a bit fucked up nonetheless. When he heard it, Bradshaw really wondered why Dex had not handed it to Johnny and his guys; it really seemed more up Gat's alley. Regardless of what he thought, he knew that she and her crew managed to make a big enough mess that several carloads of LCs had been pulled out of the plant before the truck arrived. Even given that, it had still been thick on the docks.

Bradshaw knew if it came down to it he could get a run down on what happened in the barrio from Memo, or one of the others in her quartet. Judging by her style of dress, Furia's plans did not include a briefing. And when she slipped into the hall without another word, he figured that would be the route he would have to take.

"What--"

Julius' upheld hand stopped Dex's mouth again. The boss moved toward the office door and leaned on it. "Ladies, are you done?" Julius asked Lucy and her mother.

"Almost," the elder Nguyen replied for both.

The tension thickened as the silence dragged on while the two women finished the stitching and wrapped the left biceps of both injured men. Troy's wound had been a shallow through and through; thankfully, it had missed the bone. Gat's was in about the same location but the shot that hit him had merely eaten a deep grove through the meat a few inches above his elbow. Either way the two lieutenants were going to be running around with matching bandages for a while.

The door slammed behind the women, and Julius glared around the room, pulling his hands onto his hips.

"I've got four Saints in the barrio creating havoc. Two lieutenants counting kills, and another that seems hell bent on wasting a motherfucking asset. What the hell is going on?"

No one answered. There was no answer for it.

"You two need to tone it down a notch or two. Walking through a warehouse full of Carnales like you're damn well invincible--this Rambo shit needs to stop. That kind of example is going to get some of these kids killed. And we all know Angelo's surprise visit has us short-handed enough."

The boss turned and looked at his second. "We're going to need to get back on the stick with recruiting. Troy let all the guys know to keep an eye out. Johnny, you're going to need to probably put in an extra session or two in until we get our blood flow back up."

Gat and Bradshaw nodded, though Julius turned toward Dex without waiting for any acknowledgement from the other two. "Would you like to explain to me what the fuck you were thinking?"

"You said yourself she is capable, and to use her in any capacity we see fit," Dex challenged.

With that Julius rushed him, and pinned Dexter Jackson against the wall, his forearm on the younger man's throat. "You think you're so fucking clever. You're just going to stand there and throw my own words back at me. Huh?" he asked, pressing against the younger man's windpipe.

Johnny and Troy both dashed out of their chairs when Little made his move, though neither of them put their hands on the man. They were not that stupid. Troy glanced over at Johnny. They both held similar opinions about the assignment Jackson had set Furia on, and had voiced them in their own ways. It was not so much who he sent, but the fact that he was willing to trade off their own people for a distraction, which did not sit well with the other two men. It had been a veritable suicide mission.

The thing that seemed to keep that from happening had a great deal to with the group Furia had taken--two strong shooters, Javier had the barrio wired, and Furia could think her way out of some hairy situations while having the guts to try some stellar shit. Sending her out there was a calculated move. A part of Troy doubted that Dex chose her for the assignment because he believed she could pull it off. Jackson seemed to harbor a great deal of undisclosed concern or resentment toward the young woman, though Bradshaw could not pinpoint why. Maybe it was merely her success or because she did not take all his plans at face value, maybe it was Julius' shift in interest and his focus on her--maybe that made Dex felt threatened. Fuck, maybe he just didn't like her purple boots. Bradshaw could not even hazard a guess at the strategist's motives, but whatever they were, the longer they went on the bigger the problem it would create.

Julius grabbed Dex by the collar of his jean jacket and bounced him off the wall, letting the young man slide to the floor gasping and coughing. As the lieutenant choked down breaths after being denied air, Julius stalked away from the kid.

"You want to know who she is? She's just what we need. Now I'd thank you to stop planning suicide missions for her. She can find enough danger on her own, if you haven't noticed."

Johnny and Troy grinned at each other; they both knew the truth in that statement.

"Now. Lin says she thinks she knows who is running things on the west side. She's trying to work a contact she hopes will pay off on that front," Julius said, crossing to his desk. When he sat down he looked straight at Johnny. "Where do we stand on King?"

"I'm working on something that will hamstring their income."

"And what is that?"

Gat glossed over the same plan he had mentioned to Troy in his car a few nights prior. Julius looked tense. Deep down, Bradshaw was really hoping to hear Little call the plan off and put a stop to the bombing before the plan got all that much traction, but he did not. Julius just pulled off his hat and ran his hand over his head a few times.

"Try to keep it to a minimum. Just what's needed to accomplish the task."

The little chortle to his right made Troy's entire body tense up.

"I'm serious Gat. Limit it. King's interests only. You take out an entire city block and we'll dance."

"Wasn't planning on it. I want to get Williams and King where they will really feel it."

Bradshaw wondered by the tone if there was not a personal stake for him in all of this. Even if she were not the impetus, Aisha would be affected by this plan, and in the back of his mind Troy wondered if she might not have something to do with the entire fiasco.

When the meeting ended, the auburn-haired man picked up his jacket and left. He smiled at the holes through the fabric that mirrored the trajectory of the injury to his arm. Before he exited the church, Troy shrugged it on despite the new ventilation. Entering the courtyard, he was a little surprised by what he found adorning the hood of his Bootlegger.

"Thought you had something you were doing?" he called as he started down the steps.

"My ride is late," Furia replied, raising her gaze in his direction.

"And what do you have planned?"

"Imminently, family stuff. Later, a little hunting trip, so to speak, just outside of town."

"That sounds ominous."

"Not really."

He could see the question in her eyes. It was a question he was nearly certain he would be asked more that he would prefer in the coming days.

"How is it you and Gat had the veritable army of guys and you two wind up being sewing projects?"

"I could put a similar question to you, except it might sound like praise," he chided with a grin.

Furia rolled her eyes and shook her head. He noticed she did not do well with kudos, though in this instance he felt it was heartily deserved.

"So what's this surprise you're working on?"

"The Carnales put in an order for some … high-end equipment. They have a driver meeting a truck on the outskirts of town just before dawn. We have the meet time and location and the route. I figure Angelo owes us one after his last visit to the Row," she explained, staring at him as he crossed toward his car.

"You think stealing from the Lopezes again is worth it?"

"I think if I get that truck, it won't matter if he does respond similarly." Furia slid off his hood and looked up at him. "How's the arm?"

"Hurts like a bitch."

She grinned at his honesty. "Is it true you and Gat were playing who's the better killer?"

Troy laughed and shook his head. "Who called it that?"

"Dean-O and the boys."

"I guess we were."

"Who won?"

The few feet of chilly winter air between them seemed like a no man's land; the border of which neither were willing to breach.

"No one. It was a tie," he said with a smile.

"Are you serious?" Bright and uncontrolled laughter swirled around him, when he nodded. "Wait. Let me get this straight. You tied, _and_ you have matching gunshot wounds? Julius is right, that it just precious as hell."

Before he could form a retort the honking horn drew her attention, when she looked back at him there was a trace of fatigue around her eyes

"And that's my ride. Do me a favor? Don't play any more murder games with Gat until I get back. I could use a good laugh."

 

**-6-**

Climbing out of the driver's seat, Memo yelled, "C'mon Tati. We're going to be late."

Furia took a moment to conclude her conversation before eying him sharply as she approached the car.

"Better forego the speed limit."

His sister groaned when she slid behind the wheel of his Cavallaro. "Which will just give Socorro more ammunition to fire at me," Furia noted as she toyed with the pendant on the thin gold chain around her neck.

Watching her for a long moment he saw the whole ritual that usually happened whenever family was involved. She would toy with the cross she got at her confirmation more than a decade earlier, then she hold onto it tightly before kissing it and either letting it fall against her chest or tucking it back into her collar. This time it was the latter.

Memo always assumed she might be praying for the strength to get through the scrutiny of their aunts, who were convinced that his sister should be married and pregnant by now. In the past few months, the second or seven children had come to realize that his sister had already raised six kids, and he figured it was highly likely that she did not have plans for more. Plus, in his enlightening, he found out just how Furia prioritized things and she seemed to be on the bottom of her own list.

In many ways he appreciated it, but he also hated it. Guillermo knew better now, than he ever had, just what kind of life Furia led. Everything seemed to outweigh her interests. Even now, with the Saints she set most of her earnings aside for the younger ones, though he was helping that that now in the hopes that she might just be a little more selfish. But he knew, from talking to Miguel, that she had only just started squirreling away some of what she brought in beyond basic expenses. That too was practical--it was for her car.

Furia's fingers started tapping against the steering wheel as they neared the community center on the north side of Stilwater. His other sister, Socorro, took art classes there regularly and was part of the Stilwater Community Children's Chorus. She was fifteen and Memo could only ever describe her as moody. Sometimes she would not even talk to him, but he ranked higher on Socorro's list than Furia did. For some reason his baby sister blamed their older sister for--well, as far as he could tell--everything.

With a long sigh, Furia put the car in park and turned it off before holding the keys out to him. She got out, ran her hands over her thighs to straighten out her slacks, and walked toward the door. She almost marched, striding as tall as she had that afternoon when the four of them had strolled into that LC storehouse. He could not help but smile that spread across his face at the sudden realization that for his sister walking into family gatherings was fairly similar to invading enemy territory. With both the main intention seemed to be just living through the assault and getting back out in one piece. Memo walked just beside and behind her, pulling the door open for her as they entered.

"They are in the front row, center," Memo whispered over Furia's shoulder. Gabriel had texted him about ten times since he picked Furia up. The other Saint was fairly certain that her phone likely held just as many messages from the baby of the family.

She nodded silently.

Programs in hand they found their way through the crowd. Typically, Furia would have been mobbed by his younger brother's but their uncle Antonio intercepted Gabriel and Memo was certain by the gestures and the look on their tio's face that the younger boys were being lectured about that particular behavior. It was a lecture they all knew well, because it happened everywhere, namely because their sister was the one they all counted on. Furia was there, she was the matriarch they had left, the one that showed up for every school function--even before their grandparents died, in a lot of ways she had simply fallen into the role vacated by their mother's death.

Gabriel, the youngest at fourteen, had always been the most dangerous about sprinting over to greet her. He was a natural klutz, and more than once had taken out small children in an excited attempt to get to Furia. But then Memo understood the reason. The boy was two when their mother died; and by his eighth birthday, both grandparents had followed. Furia was the closest thing to a mother Gabriel and Socorro could remember. The others were a little older and had some memory of their mother and Abuelita, but even for them it was their older sister that was the one who had always been there.

When they reached the section the Guerrero clan claimed, Furia was mobbed. The smile on her face was more relaxed than Memo had seen in weeks. And the woman with her arms draped over three of their brothers was very different to the one he had spent the afternoon with. She gently held his brothers' faces in her hands and she kissed their foreheads in turn. The difference was stark. Hell, of the five boys, he spent the most time with her, and even in that moment he sidled up to her and wrapped an arm tightly around her, which was something he would not do any other time.

She looked up at him curiously after he kissed her on the cheek.

"What?" he asked.

"Didn't we spend the afternoon together?"

"Kind of, but not quite."

She furrowed her brow and shook her head at him.

The lights flashed three times and the jostling started. The twins won out and Gabriel plopped into a chair next to Memo with a sulky set to his shoulders and his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"Watch that someone doesn't trip on that lip, mijito," Memo whispered as he draped his arm over the back of Gabriel's chair.

The boy cast a sidelong glance at the oldest brother.

"Think of it this way. You get to sit beside her at dinner."

That did the trick, there was a hint of a smile on the youngest's face as the choir took to the stage for the opening night of the Winter Pageant. The choir performed every Friday and Saturday night (with a Sunday matinee) from mid-November to the weekend prior to Christmas. Furia had been adamant that they were not going to miss this; in part it was due to the fact that it was Socorro's first solo as part of this larger group.


	22. All Work and No Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Furia and her crew have some work to do. They plan a clever heist against the Carnales. The evening ends with the Saints celebrating their success with the plant, though it is not as fun as Furia initially expected. And doing work for Gat always has some unexpected outcomes. An assignment leads to an unexpected outburst when someone lets their ego get the better of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Great appreciation to Chy for her always appreciated help.

**22 All Work and No Play**

**-1-**

Mikey leaned against the table staring at the list and the photos of the three rendezvous areas where the Carnales runners did a lot of their pickups and drop offs. "You're sure you really want to do this?"

Furia tipped her head to the side. "Look. I understand the hesitance but in most cases we are talking about a cherry pick." She turned the list of one of the shipments toward her. "It's like you said. It would be hard for us to move _all_ of this. But you said your fences can move a certain amount of the product for us. So we take what we need, enough to make it worth the effort, then leave little hints that make it look like the driver was in on it."

"And how do you propose to do that?" Lucy asked.

"Roll him," Peaches muttered from the sofa.

The group at the table turned and looked over at her. After a short silence she turned her head and peeked over the arm of the couch at them. Flipping over on her stomach, she propped herself up on her elbows.

"Drug him and knock him out somewhere along his route. Pour a little tequila into him, maybe smudge some lipstick in some questionable places, leave him in a state of undress with an empty wallet," the strawberry blonde detailed with an innocent lift of one shoulder. "Make it look like he met up with someone, and either one of the girls sold him out, or she was his payment. Let the LC boys decide which they want to believe. Either way, make sure the lipstick is red and that whatever perfume you rub on him is cheap then they'll never look at us."

Peaches laid back on the sofa again. "Hell, use blue and some of that fruity body spritzer shit and you can make it hilarious. You'll have Carnales all over the west side looking for an answer."

"That last part would work on the shipment of cars their moving at the end of the month," Mikey added.

"No dice. We can't touch the cars," Furia replied as she stretched and stood.

"Why's that?" Javier asked quickly.

"Look at the order. Who's he filling it for?"

"Some cat named Atramedes."

"Right."

"Who is this guy?" Javier asked.

Furia looked at him with a furrowed brow then shook her head as she crossed the room to refill her cup of coffee. "You are _the man_ when it comes to anything moving through LC territory and you don't know Ralph Atramedes?"

"Oh shit!"

"There we go."

"I know Ralph. Just didn't recognize the last name."

"Obviously," Mikey quipped. Javier flipped him off, which made the young man wink back at him.

"So why don't we just pick up that shipment and deliver it to Ralph, since you guys know him and all?" Lucy asked.

Javier shrugged, crinkling his face in question, which prompted them all to look at the mastermind of this little excursion. Furia stirred her coffee, tapping the spoon on the rim thrice before she laid the utensil on the counter. "Ralph is old school. He has a certain way of doing things. Kind of a code, if you will."

Furia took a long drink from her cup after she sat down. "If you take a job, you do it, to the letter, or you have a problem. If you steal from him or skim off the order, there will be a problem. If you hijack his shipment, there will be a big goddamn problem. Even if I nick those cars and deliver them to him, there will not be a renegotiation of the deal. I will have stolen from him and he will react as such. And from the little I know of Ralph, I'd prefer to stay on his good side. That can be a very profitable place. On his bad side, from what I hear, is a very dead place."

"How do we get on his good side?" Javier asked, gesturing with a French fry before popping it in his mouth.

"Make the people he is working with look incompetent. Or at least more incompetent than us," Mikey replied. "That's the way to discredit any thief, regardless of what they steal or the scale of their heists. Incompetence and dishonesty."

"The first is easier, and in line with what we're planning."

Mikey leaned toward Furia, gesturing with his hands. "If we make the Carnales look like the worst fillers in the city, we can pull Ralph's cooperation right out from under them."

"It's going to take more than that. Anyone like Ralph will talk to us based on reputation, but then we have to prove we are reliable and can get it done," Furia injected.

Lucy slurped at her near empty soda. "So, how do you know all this?"

"Miguel's been part of some jobs for him. So I've vicariously worked with him before, though he doesn't know that. He makes his deals with person A and that is the one that holds all the responsibility for the order until completion or failure."

"How bad is this guy? I mean really?" Peaches asked, peeking over the arm of the sofa at them again.

"Had a crew runner I used to know scared enough to offer me near sticker price on a car he needed boosted," Furia said, lifting her mug again.

The silence just hung there around them. That description even had Mikey on edge. He knew Furia was lucky to get a fraction of what a car was worth for a boost, so what she described really hit home with him.

"Ralph's out of our league right now anyway. Even if I pull in Memo and Paulie for one of his gigs we would probably still be light on boosters. He's a bit on the demanding side. So let's get back to these electronics," Furia said as she tapped the table with two fingers.

They solidified their plan, almost to the stage that it felt almost creepy. They would roll the driver and steal one of the LC's own vans to use as part of the heist--an empty one, which had been Furia's caveat. They were even going to go so far as to use a pair of prepaid phones to set up a text conversation over the span of the morning; so they could leave the incriminating one with the driver and drown the other. It was part of the plan to just make it a little more like the driver had turned traitor, or at least conspirator.

The five of them put together what Mikey thought sounded like a damn solid plan. Though the idea of running a heist in the middle of the day made him a little nervous, but that was the schedule the Los Carnales set out, not him. Despite the confidence in the plan Mikey still felt heavily out of his depth, but then he felt that way with about 75% of the work he did with Furia. D'Angelo was a thief by trade and a really good shot by nature.

Even stealing cars ranked beyond his range of comfort; before he met Memo's sister his experience with stealing cars was a little more limited. He had held up a few people in garages for their keys, grabbed a ride here or there at a stoplight. Hell, once he even tried to hotwire an old sedan thinking it had to be easy. After knocking out the window with a brick, he managed to electrocute himself. Thankfully it only knocked him out and made his fingers tingle for a few days. Of course, he knew from conversations with her early on that a lot of the things they were doing were outside of her comfort zone. The big difference seemed to be that Furia adapted better than Mikey did, at least in his opinion.

One thing that surprised him about the woman he worked closely with was just how much she loved cars. He could see it in her face when she looked at them, feel it in the way she drove. Hell, even his little Ant could do things in her hands that he never guessed the car was capable of. Before Mikey started working with her, Miguel had told him to watch and learn well because if he could learn from her and learn to steal like her, drive like her then he could make a lot more money off the cars than he was off the nickel heists Mikey had been pulling. For a while he thought the mechanic merely boasted on his family, at least until he overheard a discussion about the percentages she lost letting Mikey try his hand.

It was in that same conversation that Miguel made her replace two cars from their list because of damage Mikey had done to the ignition and locking mechanisms. Furia never told him a word of it. After that he noticed that some cars on their shopping lists carried asterisks. And she always soloed those cars, though she would let Mikey watch in the hopes that he could get an idea what she did differently than he.

Her method rivaled Troy's. Johnny tended to yell and lecture; more than once when Mikey hit the range with Gat, the kid received a well timed tap on the back of the head. Usually it was accompanied by an exuberant reminder to remember the conditions and stop dicking around. Dex just ignored a person once they pissed him off. But Troy helped. He would try to find a way that would work for someone. He was accommodating. That's how Furia was mostly--though she bore traces of the others as well. She refused to work with Thunder after he decided to drag race in one of the cars she had pulled off a lot in the middle of the night. Plus, she could lecture with the best of them if you gave her a reason.

Mikey glanced out the window, noticing the patrol car slow again as it neared the building. It was the same pair of guys: a broad shouldered bald white guy and a slighter Latino man.

"Hey, kid," Furia said, bumping his shoulder with hers. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah."

"Nervous?"

"Fucking A."

"Good. If you weren't, I'd be worried." Furia leaned toward the window, suggesting she noticed the police car as well. "Hey Javier, pull all those papers for me. Lucy, go grab that big duffle out of my closet," she added, turning away from Mikey for a moment.

"What's up?"

"Nothing. Probably." She winked at him, which just made him laugh. "How's your girl? She seemed a little out of it the other day."

Mikey winced. _Out of it barely covers it_. When he got Peaches home from their little trip downtown, she locked herself in the bathroom for a few hours. Mikey had had his pick set in his hands, kneeling at the door when she finally started talking to him. Peaches refused to let him in the room for more than an hour, so he sat there in the hall talking to her through the door. Once he got permission to break into the room, he did, and found her sitting in chilled bathwater, little grayish tracks streaking her cheeks.

Before he entered, Mikey knew the upset all surrounded her mother's disappearance. She had told him about it: how one morning she had a mother and by the end of cheerleading practice she was alone. D'Angelo also knew that if Peaches would have told Furia, she would not have put the girl through that. But even now, he still could not convince his girlfriend to tell their crew leader. Peaches just insisted that she had to pull her weight.

"She was just feeling a little under the weather," he said, looking out the window. He could not lie to Furia, at least not when looking her in the eye. When he looked back over at her, Mikey knew she could see it.

Furia faced him, squeezing his shoulder tightly. "You're a good guy, Mikey. If you have any concerns, you should lay them on me."

"I know. And you know all _my_ concerns."

The woman looked over at the girl lounging on the sofa then back at him. "Good," she said as she patted his cheek once. "Let me know if that car circles again."

"Sure thing."

 

**-2-**

"Well this is interesting," Ginger opined as she and Furia took the backstairs leading to the underground club at On Track.

The Latina shrugged. Furia's afternoon consisted wholly of business. She got home with just enough time to shower and change before Ginger arrived. The Saints set up this elaborate shindig to celebrate their little coup against the Lopez Brothers. The takeover of the major manufacturing and shipping point in the city was a major play and it would keep the Carnales occupied for a while because they would have to find another way of handling distribution to deal with the loss of the plant.

Of course Ginger knew nothing about the impetus for the party just that Furia figured she would enjoy the night out.

"I don't know it seems like a really good idea, since the building upstairs is a little small," the black-haired woman noted. "Rico really squeezed all the usable space he could muster out of this place."

"It certainly looks like," Ginger agreed as she surveyed the place. "Oh, and look what I see." The suggestive tone in her friend's voice made Furia groan.

"Give it up."

"Not until you do," the redhead replied quickly, bouncing her shoulder against Furia's.

"I swear. I can't take you anywhere."

"Not if you were smart. If you had a lick a sense, you wouldn't be making him strain his eyes."

When Furia turned back toward the exit, Ginger wrapped her arm around her friend's and walked her toward the last set of stairs. "No you don't. You said we were going out for a good time, and I haven't had any fun yet."

"Liar."

"Oh, come on. I can torture you anytime. That's not really fun anymore, it's a necessity."

"Bitch," Furia muttered.

Ginger blew her a little kiss. The two of them walked over to the bar. While they waited for their drinks they both scoped the room. Furia tried not to let her eyes stop too long on the temptation in the corner, but when they did, Troy turned his attention to one of the guys sitting at the table. Furia bit her bottom lip and faced the bar.

The pair managed to grab a sweet little table at the edge of the room. Before Ginger could turn the conversation back to its former topic, Furia redirected it.

"How's work been?" the raven-haired woman asked she slid into a chair at a small table.

"Alla's pregnant."

Furia groaned deeply. "Who?"

Ginger smirks and shakes her head. "No idea. Some guy she says she's been dating--won't tell us anything about him. But she's over the moon."

"Hopefully, it all works out."

"Yeah, I hear you."

Furia got a lucky reprieve. Ginger allowed her time to get comfortable. The Saint should have known better. She should have realized that her friend was merely planning an ambush. The redhead was perceptive, she watched everything, but then most bartenders did--they had to be able to pick out who was too far gone and who was a troublemaker, among other things. Furia should have known better than to think that the dark eyed woman would let go of a bone once she had hold of it.

After returning to the table after a lively dance with Marco, Ginger sipped her drink silently for a moment. "So are you ever going to do anything about that tall drink of water?"

"Nothing to do," Furia replied, looking into her tall thin glass.

The redhead leaned on the table and waited for her friend to look up at her. "I'm telling you this as a friend. You need to get on that. Or else you need to stop looking at the boy like you could climb that."

Furia choked on her drink. "I do not--"

"Bullshit," Ginger countered, cocking her eyebrow. "I mean I'm not judging, but stop ogling and grab it."

Leaning back in her chair, the Latina sulked slightly. "Doesn't matter."

"Why not?"

"Because … it just doesn't," Furia revealed, rolling her eyes as she fidgeted slightly. She really just wished she could find some way to get her friend to abandon this particular topic of conversation.

Ginger's eyes widened. "You didn't?" she gasped.

"No. I didn't. Though I probably would have, if not for the combination of my luck, bad timing, and a phone call."

"Oh, Sweetie. Rule number one is turn off the damn phone."

Furia could not help but laugh, that one she had already determined all on her lonesome.

"Spill," Ginger ordered adamantly.

"Nothing to say. He slammed on the brakes." Furia toyed with her straw. "Enough said."

"Yeah, if that was all there was to it then why's he been clocking you since we got here?"

The Saint shook her head. "You're seeing what you want to see."

"Or you are."

Furia glared at her friend.

"Look, Sweetie. Guys are assholes. It's a fact of life. But from time to time they have some redeeming qualities, even if it is only a pair of pretty eyes and a nice ass."

"Ginger!"

"Oh, put your big sister voice away or I'll get mine out, too, girl."

Leaning on the table, Furia's voice lowered. "What part of, I went there and he bolted, isn't jiving?"

"The part where he keeps looking over here like that impatient owl from the Tootsie Roll commercial. Three licks and he'd be gone. Though good money says it wouldn't take three." Ginger stared at Furia over her glass as she took a long drink of her chocolate martini.

Furia leaned back suddenly when Aisha slid into the empty chair between them.

"Well that sounds promising, though if you're lucky he'll have more than three licks in him," Aisha suggested by way of greeting.

Furia froze, hoping that the new addition to their group had not heard very much more than that. The Latina introduced the other two women to one another, suddenly feeling like she might be severely outnumbered. The only saving grace seemed to be that Aisha at least did not know who the two of them were talking about.

Sipping from her wide rimmed glass, Aisha looked from one to the other of the women. "So, who are we talking about?"

Furia stared at Ginger with a note of warning before she said, "No one of consequence."

Unfortunately Johnny's girl was as adamant as Ginger. "Well, if I were to guess," Aisha began, leaning back in her chair. The redhead encouraged her with a single nod. "Marco's always a solid guess. But that man is a walking hard-on. And I think after that Salsa last week with Dean-O, he might just be a little enamored. But I seriously doubt either of them are conversation worthy."

The look the singer cast on Furia, made her wonder if there might be more to what Ginger insinuated earlier. When Johnny sat a round of drinks on the table it was all Furia could do not to stand up and kiss him. With his presence the conversation on possible candidates fully stopped, much to Furia's relief. Thankfully he was as stubborn and persistent as her other friends.

With Gat's distraction, Furia cast a quick sidelong glance across the room in time to see Bradshaw stand. He finished off his beer before grabbing his lighter off the table and heading toward the stairs. Sipping at her drink, she caught his gaze before he started up the stairs. Returning her eyes to her own table, Ginger cocked her eyebrow at her, while Johnny had Aisha thoroughly distracted for the moment.

The look the redhead cast her told Furia she would be hearing about this topic again. _It's your own fault,_ the Latina thought _, you're the one that can't keep your eyes to yourself. You're just acting like a glutton for punishment._

"Come on, Johnny," Aisha groaned at him, pushing on his hip.

"All right. All right, fine. But I'm stealing your girl," Johnny finally caved, standing and leaning over Aisha. He kissed her lightly then looked over at Furia. "Walk with me."

She and Johnny strolled around the edge of the dance floor toward the stairs without saying a word until they reached the first landing. "Little birdie tells me you're trying to set up a meet with a new guy on the scene."

"You might want to be more specific," she said.

Johnny laughed lightly. "Yeah, I guess I would have to be with a multitasker like you."

"Are you complaining?"

"Hardly. Just wanted to get the skinny on this guy since his interests seem to align with mine."

"Ah, you mean Sam. I haven't met him yet," Furia noted as they reached the top floor.

"What do you know?"

"Miguel says he and Big Tony have some bad blood between them. And this Sam is looking to target anything and everything the Vice Kings are moving in or out of Stilwater."

"So it's not just cars?" Johnny held the door open for her.

Furia shook her head as they stepped out into the cold night air. "If it was just cars my cousin would have said as much. This guys' interest sounds more … expansive."

"Good. That's what I was hoping for," Gat opined. Johnny tapped a cigarette out of the pack he drew from his pocket and started patting himself. He looked at her expectantly but Furia shook her head at him. He looked past her and she could not help but cringe at the possibility.

"Hey Troy!" Johnny called. "Got a light?"

_Chigame._

Bradshaw crossed over to the pair and tossed his Zippo at the man wearing sunglasses in the middle of the night. Furia stuffed her hands in her pockets.

"And Miguel trusts him?" Johnny asked.

She winced slightly and tipped her head. "I don't know if he trusts him but the guy's got a solid rep. And he's willing to work with me based off my cousin's cred."

"This the hunting trip you mentioned?" Troy asked.

"No," Furia answered, shaking her head. "That was kind of freelance. There's a hijacker on the north side trying to makes his bones. He could use some steady hands."

"Any idea when the meet is happening?" Johnny queried.

"None. Miguel is setting it up. And I haven't heard back from him yet."

"Make sure to take Mikey or Memo with you. If this guy's new don't give him the chance to jam you up," Johnny suggested.

She nodded her agreement. It was already in her plans. Her trust was earned, not freely given; even more so when it came to business and doubly so with business for the Saints.  

Johnny satisfied his curiosity with his cigarette and reentered the club. Troy toyed with the lid of his lighter, and looked at her for a long moment.

"What did you guys bag on your hunt?" he finally asked, taking a drag.

Furia chuckled lightly. "Nothing too eccentric. Some electronics that one of Mikey's fences is already moving for us. They won't miss it; well, not really," she said with a sheepish grin.

"How do you figure?"

She scrunched up her shoulders and looked at him closely. "It's not like we boosted the whole load. Just enough of the good stuff to make it worth the time."

"That's a little devious," Troy opined.

"No. That's smart. You get greedy and people notice. You grab a little here and there and it's easier to cover your tracks, at least according to Mikey."

"That would be his area of expertise."

"Indeed it would."

After a long moment, Furia took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. "I'm going to …" She pointed toward the door.

"Sure. Have fun."

 Apparently out of sight, out of mind worked on Ginger. When Furia returned to their table the other two women were onto a conversation about Mikey and Peaches, which was much preferred to their earlier topic. Though Furia knew there was no way her oldest friend would drop this topic completely, at least she was not declaring it openly, yet.

 

**-3-**

The recruiting jag really seemed to be hit or miss but the Saints were trying to be a little more careful now that things were moving against the other gangs. Julius wanted to be sure that the Saints did not fall victim to the move they were making on the Rollerz, which the boss was not willing to rule out. This meant that joining the Saints, which used to be sort of a walk-in and survive the application process sort of gig, now required references. And not just someone willing to stand up and say, _I know that guy_. These people basically recruited on their earned rep, and their recruits screw ups became their screw ups.

While it offered the leadership a little more peace of mind, it made things a little hairier in terms of growing numbers. Strangely, it was not hampering growth it just meant that they could have three newcomers one week and a dozen the next. The knock drew Troy's attention to the door.

"They're ready," Memo announced.

"Okay. Keep an eye on them. I'll get Gat," Troy replied.

Bradshaw tried to stretch some of the tension out of his back as he strolled down the hall. Even if he was handling the Vice Kings, Johnny always participated in the canonization ritual, though merely as a figurehead now. His reputation got to the point that recruits refused to even go through it if he was involved in the actual process. Strange thing was the Memo Guerrero was on the cusp of just the same reputation. The last go around they had a guy start to back out when the big Latino stepped into the circle.

"Hey Gat!"

Troy froze when he entered the office. He was not expecting those eyes or the little way the corner of Furia's mouth twitched up when she saw him.

"Yo!" Johnny replied, as he stood in front of an open cabinet, holding the doors open as he searched for something.

"The new blood is ready," Troy said, stripping his gaze away from her. He was going to have to do something about this, one way or another. The worry that nipped at his heels was that he would end up doing the wrong thing. As complicated as things were becoming for him, Troy really did not need more complications.

"Already? Nice," Johnny replied with a look over at the man in the doorway before he reached for a weapon. "I know I'm biased but I really am partial to this AR. I mean a lot of people like that Krukov. But I just don't like the way it can jam up."

"It's an easy clear," Bradshaw offered.

"For someone who knows their weapons," Furia replied with a telling glance at him.

He laughed and shook his head. "I told you I'd help you out with that."

"I know," she said, her attention returning to Johnny.

Troy thought he heard something in her voice, something akin to the same hesitance he felt. He just could not be sure how to read it. _Not that you should be reading it at all,_ he reminded himself.

"Take the AR-40," Johnny told her, passing one of the rifles over to her then grabbing several clips. "There's likely to be a crowd given the situation. So the firepower will help."

"Cool," she replied as she faced the table she had been leaning against.

"Want to help with the new kids?" Johnny queried as he rolled his neck in a circle. "There's a couple of young ladies in the mix."

Furia chuckled. "Any big guys that need to be taken down a peg?"

"God, you're mean." Johnny chuckled playfully.

"What can I say? I like making the guy's sweat it."

"Come on you two. You can work out the logistics once we get this started," Troy advised.

"Yes, sir," Furia quipped.

She and Johnny chuckled as they followed Troy out of the church and into the brimming courtyard. The group of recruits was standing near the tree flanked by Paulie and Dean-O. Memo was talking to Peaches and few of the other ladies just beyond.

"Oye, Mamacita!" one of the new guys had the balls to yell out.

Furia stopped dead and looked at them. The little chuckle he replied with secured her response. She glanced at Johnny, who gave her the nod.

"He's first," she called across the graveyard. She strode down the steps and the circle parted for her.

"I'm not going to fight some, chica."

"You're right, you're not," she replied sharply. "But I'll promise you this. If you can stay conscious for more than thirty seconds, I'll let you try your luck with one of the guys."

Troy groaned. He knew it was true and he knew she was playing with the kid. Judging from the look in her eye she was going to do exactly what she had done to the first guy in her canonization and knock that kid out cold. But she was going to make a show if it and burn any rep this candidate might have. It did not matter that it was Furia. Most of these newbies did not know her or her reputation; all they were going to know was that this big mouthed idiot got laid out in one punch by a girl.

"There goes one promising prospect," Bradshaw muttered toward Gat.

"Yo! Chill. If this kid can't take a hit, then he should keep his trap shut. First rule of fighting: don't talk shit, if you can't back it up." Johnny chuckled lightly, as he watched Furia slide on a pair of fingerless batting gloves. "What you worried you'll chip a nail?" Gat yelled.

Furia flipped him off, as several in the crowd chuckled.

The enforcer returned his attention to his counterpart. "Besides no one's going to give him too much shit for getting his ass beat by her. Not a damn person in that circle except for her crazy ass brother would volunteer to tangle with that woman."

"You know that and I know that. But these new kids don't know who she is."

"Yeah, not yet. But it won't take long for them to figure it out."

Troy shook his head. The guy in the circle was still waffling.

"Hey kid! We all had to do it. Just jump in there. You got this," Bradshaw added in an attempt to encourage the boy.

Furia smirked in Troy's direction. He really hoped she would not break this kid's nose in the process. Having a new guy who could not see straight for his first time was going to make things problematic.

"Come on, Fortote. You can't be intimidated by little ole me," Furia taunted, batting her eyelashes at him as she twisted into this extremely feminine pose. A few of the people in the circle, mostly the females giggled at that comment. "I'll even give you a free shot."

That brought a little glimmer to the kid's eyes. Furia could push people, Troy knew, even without meaning to she could find just the right button to press. The kid nodded then moved toward her with a little caution. Bradshaw watched the young man, but the fact that there was no flexion in the kid's hands did not register until after it happened.

Troy and Johnny both flinched when the young man slapped her. They were expecting him to punch her. So was the circle, which gasped in unison. Mikey and Javier had the foresight to grab Memo, who broke free easily but froze when his sister handled the situation on her own, which surprised none of them.

In one hit, the kid was out cold on the ground and Furia stood over him just going off. The only word Troy managed to catch was _puta_ , before the diatribe sped up. When she spit on him, Memo intervened. It was about the funniest thing had seen. Her brother put his hand on her shoulder she shrugged it off and turned, pointing at him with a warning look. When all else failed, he just wrapped his arms around her waist and picked her up. And with that her lecture seemed to switch focus to him.

"Furia!" Gat called as Memo set her back on her feet near the stairs.

"What?" she replied, turning her ire on him for about a second before it faded.

"Thanks for not killing the kid. That tends to make Troy all moody."

She bit back a smile and shook her head at Gat. "You keep that mocoso bastard the fuck away from me." Furia pulled her arm loose of Memo's grip. "Little bitch thinks he's going walk into this church and slap me," she grumbled as she reentered the building. She had switched back to Spanish when she reappeared with the assault rifle and a small bag she and Johnny prepped earlier.

"Damn, I love watching that girl work," Johnny said as Furia exited the graveyard.

"She is something else," Bradshaw agreed, watching her drop the bag and the weapon into the passenger seat of a small coupe. It reminded him that he needed to ask her how her car was coming along. Deep down, he knew that once it was, everyone would know it.

With a glance back at the progression of the canonization, Troy counted two guys out cold while the rest were mostly just holding ice to their faces. One unlucky fella suffered at Lucy's shaky hand as she stitched up a deepish gash above his eye. _Yeah, that's going to make for a lovely scar_ , he thought, absently rubbing at the bandage on his arm.

"What are we going to do about the idiot?" Johnny said lowly.

"Your call. Canonization's your gig man," Troy replied. "But I'm pretty sure than any bones he might have gotten by her knocking him silly got swept away when he slapped her."

"You don't disrespect someone like that in their own house," Johnny agreed. "Shit, she was even being nice to the little bastard."

"I won't touch him. We could pass him to Dex, but he may just get pissy about it when he hears how it went down."

"True, but Furia's got enough sway with Dex's boys that almost none of them will work with him over this kind of thing."

"I don't think there has ever been a situation like this, man."

Johnny shook his head. "Nope. But technically he got knocked out cold after one hit. Reads like a fail to me."

"Have to agree with you there."

As Peaches helped the last girl back to her feet, Johnny clapped Bradshaw on the shoulder. "If the idiot comes to and somehow thinks he passed send him to me, I'll straighten him out."

"Well don't kill him. It makes me moody, remember?"

Everyone else knew what they needed to do. The new Saints that went through their canonizations were paired up with senior members who were leading them to various destinations around the Row. _And the testing begins_ , he thought as he eyed the kid still out cold. Lucy did not look pleased to be the one left monitoring him, though that was not surprising to Troy given her friendship with the woman he had disrespected.


	23. Nothing Ever Goes According to Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected shotgun blast has Furia in a bad spot. Her escapades actually hit the 10 o'clock news, while Lin finds herself in an unexpected and unfamiliar position as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Chy for all the help with this chapter (and all the others).

**23 Nothing Ever Goes According to Plan**

**-1-**

The ten o'clock news droned on in the background as Troy stared into the refrigerator, leaning on the door and surveying the empty shelves as if there might actually be a choice that would just materialize out of thin air. He grabbed an amber bottle off the door and twisted the top off before closing the fridge. The screen flashed with Channel 6's red and blue _Breaking News_ banner before Jane Valderamma's face filled the screen.

"Finally," he groaned when the knock interrupted the reporter's announcement of a live report from Sunnyvale Gardens. He set the beer on the counter and crossed the room.

His hand dove into his back pocket as he tugged open the door. Expecting the geeky kid from Tito's Pizza, Troy froze and swallowed hard in an attempt to locate his voice when he saw Furia leaning against his doorjamb.

"I was in the neighborhood. Thought you might be game to lend a girl a hand," she said rather quietly.

Furia looked a little pale and the streaking on her hands prompted him to pull her into his apartment. He checked the hall quickly, then closed and locked the door behind his surprise guest. He rounded her and held her face up so he could check her eyes. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, but I'm probably dripping blood on your carpet."

"Not the first and you won't be the last," he replied. "What happened? Were you shot?"

"Not really," she replied with a laugh as he swatted her hands out of the way.

Troy unzipped her massive coat--the big puffy black one she seemed quite partial to since it had turned cold. Bradshaw tried to remove it gently, not knowing what might be wrong.

"Crazy guy with a shotgun, splintered one of those cheap ass doors. Drug runners really should chose better places to host their deals," she explained, turning slightly so he could see the shredding of her blouse which was heavily stained with her own blood.

"Christ, Furia!"

"I figured with all the reporters and the berries it might just be better to hide out than try to run for it. And I figured since I was in your neck of the woods, you might loan me a band-aid and maybe a shower."

"Good call, " Troy agreed with a laugh. "And I think I can find something along those lines. Wait in the kitchen. I'll be right back."

Slipping into the back of the apartment, he grabbed the first aid kit he kept stocked for moments like these, though usually he only used it as a result of his own stupidity. When he reentered the kitchen, he told her to take off her shirt. He barely had a moment to register the blush on her cheeks before he was tugging open drawers looking for towels to drench. Troy set the wet cloths on the counter near the first aid kit and helped her peel the shirt off.

"Uninjured arm first," he ordered calmly. Then he maneuvered the fabric so that he could try to avoid jostling the shrapnel that peppered her arm, shoulder, and back. He hissed with her when one of the tears caught on a particularly wicked looking sliver. "Sorry."

"You're doing better than me," she replied.

"Come here."

Taking her by the hand he led her over to the sink, which he had her lean over in an effort to wash away the excess blood so he could survey the extent of the damage. Furia pulled her hair over her shoulder and out of the way when he grabbed the sprayer. She startled at the initial jet of water and he realized he should have let it run it a little longer to warm it.

"I'm just missing the boat across the board tonight."

"It's all good. I showed up on your doorstep, unannounced, remember?" she replied.

He still was not sure why. "Stay here a minute," he said when he turned off the water.

On the edge of the opposite counter, Troy laid out a folded towel before having her switch places but not positions. He swept her hair off her back again, and could not help but notice the shiver. She looked up at him out of the corner of her eye as he touched her back lightly.

"Well, it looks like it's mostly door. I'm not seeing any shot. Though I don't know that that's any consolation," he said, flipping open the metal box.

"No." She laughed lightly. "Not really."

"What were you doing?" Troy grabbed a pair of thick headed tweezers from the kit and set after the larger slivers of wood, working from the lowest point of injury on her back toward the shoulder.

"Warren Williams was trying to make some new friends, fill the void left after we dropped the LC production in town. Ah!" she hissed when Troy pulled a large piece of wood out but the jolt did not break her train of thought, though her voice became increasingly more tense. "Guess King and his boys thought they should try to fill that void before the Lopez Brothers found a way to recuperate."

"This was what you and Johnny were prepping for this afternoon?"

Bradshaw noticed her fists were balled up in the towel he laid on the counter as a cushion.

"Yeah," she said with a trace of discomfort.

"Sorry. I'm trying to be as gentle as I can be, but it's going to hurt."

"It's not as bad as when it happened," she said trying to laugh through the pain he knew she had to be in.

Furia told him about the building and the yard full of VKs, and being just too quick to open the door. She heard the shotgun pump a second too late, she told him. They both agreed that she had been extremely lucky that all she got from that encounter was slivers of cheap construction in her back.

Relating the story seemed to distract her from his actions, though as he moved to smaller slivers of wood he knew thy likely hurt less, though they still split like the larger ones, meaning he had to remove splinters from each wound before moving to the next. Once he thought he might have gotten them all, he ran the cold cloth over her skin, causing goose bumps to stream down her arms. He apologized again before running his palm over her back. On the second pass of his hand, he felt her tense, which caused him to halt his search for more spines.

“I think I’ve gotten them all. But there could still be some smaller ones, though they may take a day or two to show themselves.”

She still had a death grip on the towel, he noticed as he balled up the paper towel where he collected the slivers.

“You can use the shower if you like. I can dress the bigger gashes after.”

Furia nodded at him, holding the towel up in front of her as she straightened.

Troy walked her back through the bedroom to the bathroom. "The towels are in the cabinet there," he said with a short gesture.

"Thanks," she replied entering the bathroom and closing the door behind her.

He ran his hand through his hair quickly and pulled open the top drawer of his dresser. Grabbing a t-shirt and a pair of running pants, he set them on the corner of the bed before he left the room, closing the door behind himself. The question rushed him again. _Why? Why did she come here?_

The answer smacked him like a sack full of doorknobs when he was cleaning the utensils from his first aid kit. Troy was the fixer. Hell, he had lectured her about it after bailing her out. If a Saint was in trouble, his was the number they dialed. And apparently his was the doorstep they wound up on, though thankfully that was few and far between. He scrubbed up the rest of the kitchen and returned it to its normally unused guise.

Leaning over the first aid kit, Troy sought out and pulled the items he knew he would need when she reappeared--butterfly closures, bandages, antibiotic ointment. He was not as talented as either of the Nguyen women so there was no chance he was going to attempt to stitch anything though he was fairly certain there were a few of the resulting gashes that could use it. His attempt to distract himself was cut short by the screeching of his doorbell.

Bradshaw crossed to the door again, fairly certain that this was the person he expected earlier. And he was not disappointed.

“Sorry about the delay, sir. I have one large Supreme. That’ll be $18.36.”

Troy handed the kid a twenty and some ones then took the box, and closed the door without so much as a word. The one time he made the mistake mistake of being conversational the kid kept him at the door for half an hour talking about his college classes and some Wizards of Witchcraft or some such thing. Approaching the coffee table, the undercover officer's attention was pulled toward Jane Valderamma’s voice, which overpowered the sound of the shower.

_"The police are calling it a drug deal gone bad. A large number of gang members from the organization that calls themselves the Vice Kings appear to have been lured to this old abandoned pharmacy only to be double crossed. Lieutenant Washburn can you tell us more about what happened here?" Jane asked, thrusting the microphone under the public relations officers' nose._

_"All the dead seem to be from the same street gang, since there are no bodies of civilians or rival gangs which leads us to believe that whoever they were meeting with killed them, or never showed."_

_"Do you have any suspects?"_

_"No. But there were reports of a dark-haired assailant fleeing the scene with a large caliber rifle. About six foot, wearing black. If your viewers see anyone suspicious they should avoid the person and call the Stilwater PD Tip Line immediately."_

_"You heard it here first Stilwater. Beware. Be safe. Be alert," Jane concluded._

“I’m closer to five-nine actually,” Furia replied.

Troy turned quickly. “Yeah, well it was dark and you do look bigger in that coat. You want something to drink?” he asked, placing the box on the coffee table before crossing living space of his small efficiency apartment.

“Sure.”

He grabbed one beer from the refrigerator and opened it as he noticed her peek out the window.

“I’m kind of surprised they are still down there. Wonder why they are so interested in little old me.”

“Probably because they think there’s another player in the game. If someone had said you were wearing purple they’d be looking at the Row right now.”

Holding out the bottle to her, Bradshaw leaned on the sill of the window and peeked at the commotion in the street below.

“I was wearing purple," she said with a tip of her head.

Troy noticed the purple boots she often wore just outside his bedroom door. Suddenly all the things he had not considered in the last half an hour smacked him in the face when he turned and looked down at her. Her dark hair was tied up in a towel, his towel. The white t-shirt was his. He stopped there, trying to keep his wits about him.

“Hate to ask, but would you be so kind as to lend a girl a hand to bandage these up?” she asked tipping her shoulder toward him, “Before they get all oozy.”

"Sure. I've got everything laid out on the counter."

As distracting as she usually was she was even more so as she tugged at the waistband of his sweatpants. They almost instantly slid back down her hips, which prompted her to grab them and hoist them up again, holding onto them as she crossed the room. When she lifted the shirt, thankfully his mind slipped into the correct mode. The gate dropped again, almost stemming the tide of the imprudent side of his brain. Practical concerns looked like the key, he thought as he set the cold bottle near her on the counter. Of course, the reprieve was merely temporary.

Several of the larger wounds gaped like little pink maws marring the expanse of smooth caramel-colored skin of her bag. The bigger ones he tugged together with butterflies, while the others he merely slathered with antibacterial ointment and bandaged in a way as to lessen the scarring as much as possible. He pulled the shirt back down her back, noticing the little shiver his caress created.

Furia turned and looked over her at him. “I guess I should be glad you were home.”

“Yeah, well. It was a slow night.” He turned to the sink and washed his hands, trying to convince himself she was only there because she needed help and he was convenient. “You might want to swing by Lucy’s tonight or tomorrow. A couple of those could probably use stitches.”

"Sorry I just showed up like this."

"No, its fine. It's what I do, right? I'm the fix-it guy," he told the towel he swiped his hands on before laying it back over the edge of the counter.

“Troy.”

God, he loved and hated when she said his name like that, with the smoothness of warm honey ribboned with rolling trill on the R. He glanced to the right and saw the smolder in her voice mirrored in her eyes. He gripped the counter tightly as her fingertips moved along his jaw in a mesmerizing caress that bent him toward her. The first graze of her kiss was a temptation. The second, deeper, seemed like permission to give in. And with the third, with the tease of the tip of her tongue and the brush of her fingers on the back of his neck, he did exactly that.

 

**-2-**

Her lips grazed over his neck. She sucked on his jugular nipping at the skin lightly and being rewarded with a little moan. His hands moved to cup her face and Aisha blinked down at Johnny. She removed the sunglasses he almost always wore and set them on the nightstand before returning her attention to the man in her bed. While her hands moved down the front of his shirt, light kisses punctuated every freed button.

Johnny's patience was a temporal virtue. Sometimes he could maddeningly take all the time in the world, other times it seemed a smile could use it all up. Tonight his fuse seemed longer than usual. Aisha let her hips tease against his as she pushed her palms back up his chest. Johnny leaned up; when her hands reached his shoulders, he pressed his mouth to hers and let the soft fabric slip down his arms.

His hands teasingly kneaded up her thighs and she hugged him to her tightly. Then his hands froze and the liquid feline body beneath her went rigid.

"Eash," he said quietly in that voice she knew well.

Making no attempt to hide the pout, the singer slipped off his lap and stretched out on the bed. Johnny grabbed the remote and turned up the volume on the television as he slipped the glasses back on. She dragged a fingernail up his spine and returned the smile he flashed over his shoulder at her before he brought his attention back to the news report.

"What is it?" she asked, sitting up when she heard they were searching Sunnyvale Gardens for an armed assailant.

"Not sure."

She kissed his bare back as Johnny shifted, hands darting into his pockets.

"You seen my phone, baby?"

It was on the dresser, where he always left it, which Aisha pointed out. She leaned against the fluffy pillows and watched him cross the room. His body was a stunning map of loyalty, pain, suffering, strength--covered in scars that he had been collecting since he was a kid, later came the tattoos. The former were reminders. The latter were promises, dares, warnings. She could not help but smile when his hand darted into his pocket and a little flash of purple peeked above his waistband. One of the promises carved into that chiseled body was hers.

She stretched out and eyed him in a way that she hoped he would be able to see every dirty thought running through her head. His eyes darted from the phone long enough for a smirk to curl his lips. It confirmed her suspicions that he noticed.

Johnny crossed the room quickly, leaning over her. Aisha hummed lightly as his mouth closed on her neck. She held onto him tightly, a sigh echoing around them while he sucked at her skin for a long moment before moving to her ear, which he bit.

"You keep looking at me like that and I won't be able to make this call," he warned.

"Good," she replied, taking the phone from him and tossing it to the other side of the before pulling him to her again.

His kiss was greedy, almost commanding, as he held her neck tightly while his tongue moved into her mouth forcefully. "Damn Eash," he groaned when her hand moved down his chest and rubbed wantonly at the front of his trousers. "Baby girl, you're killing me. I need to make one call. That's it. I swear."

"Your choice," Aisha replied in a taunting fashion.

The smirk told her he might just be anticipating what she was thinking. Gat leaned across the bed and retrieved his phone, he did not argue when she pushed him over and straddled his hips again. The soft laugh paired with a shake of his head made her grind against him. That movement earned her a shake of his head.

Johnny trailed his fingers lightly up and down her thigh as he lifted the phone to his ear. "Hey! Is that your handiwork on the news?"

Aisha kissed her way up his chest and he lifted his chin in a clear refusal to allow her his lips. She stole his sunglasses and slipped them on as she sat up again. Johnny grinned and set his other hand behind his head.

"They said there were witnesses. Anyone see you?"

Aisha lowered the zipper running down her back.

"You sure?"

Grabbing the hem, she lifted it over her head, shedding the dress quickly with a calculated roll of her hips. The quick movement of his Adam's apple, made her smile.

"Where'd you stash your gear?"

Johnny's tongue peeked out and wet his lips when the singer's hands met between her breasts. He loved front closure bras, claiming the ones that closed in the front were less troublesome, so she indulged him. His grin widened when she held the lingerie out dramatically and let it fall.

"What were those guys doing with a rifle like that? Maybe they were just security for the meet," Johnny said, bringing his hands back to Aisha's leg, lightly tickling her knee.

"You lost that rifle, right?" His laughter was rich and rumbling.

Aisha lowered her body to his again, letting her skin caress his as she placed open-mouthed kisses along the curve of his ribs and over the expanse of his chest, before biting at his nipple. The shift of his body in reaction to the bite pressed against her in delicious temptation.

"Good job. Where are you?" Johnny watched Aisha carefully as her kisses retreated. "Do you need me to send someone out there? Okay. Okay. I got it. You're on the ball. You've got it handled."

Aisha was a little surprised that he did not try to keep her from undoing his belt. Usually he would not let her try him in that manner on the phone, at least not after the time she made him moan in Julius' ear.

"Good work. I'll see you at the church. Try to lay low just in case someone clears up their search for some six foot dude."

Johnny hung up the phone and tossed it over his shoulder. One hand drew her lips back to his, the other hooked in the band of her thong and tugged it off as he shifted her off him. He guided her back onto the bed and with a telling smirk his mouth moved down his body.

"Tease me, will you?" he challenged, manipulating her knee and planting kisses up her inner thigh.

 

**-3-**

Troy leaned back against the counter, sipping at his beer. He never really held an opinion about Cheap Trick until now. _Danger Zone_ was quickly becoming one of his least favorite of their songs. One thing Bradshaw knew for certain: Johnny Gat's timing was abysmal.

"Sorry," she said with a trace of reticence.

"Knowing Gat, he would have kept calling." Grabbing the bottle on the counter behind him, he closed the few steps between them and proffered the drink he had offered earlier. "You hungry?"

The little smirk seemed to douse the reserve that cropped up. "I could eat."

"I'll get the china." With a smile, Troy crossed the kitchen to her gentle laughter and grabbed paper plates out of the cabinet.

"Oh, you better be careful, now," she quipped as he joined her on the sofa. "You break out the good stuff and a girl could get the wrong idea."

"Or the right one."

He smiled at the trace of a blush on her cheeks. It was unexpected, though maybe he should not have been surprised by it given the situation. Peeking out the window, he took note of the red and blue lights still reflecting off the buildings a few blocks up--just the sight he hoped to see.

"Might as well make yourself comfortable. If the party outside is any indication, the boys in blue will be chasing their tails for a while," he suggested. Troy could not have predicted this outcome to her popping up on his doorstep, but there was an overwhelming relief in it. There was no longer the tension of wondering if what happened in the warehouse had just been the adrenaline.

"If that's the case, you're going to have to find something better than Jack Armstrong."

She dished him a slice before grabbing one for herself and leaning back against the sofa. He surfed the channels waiting for some kind of indication from his welcome and unexpected guest. The full-mouthed mumble accompanied by a quick point paused the search. He did not recognize the movie at all, but then that was not really a surprise; Troy rarely watched television.

"This?"

Furia covered her mouth and smiled from behind her hand as she nodded her assent.

"What is it?" Troy grabbed the pizza off his plate and sat back a little.

"You have to promise not to laugh?"

"Why?" he asked warily as he watched the travel montage on the screen.

Furia shook her head and laughed. "You'll see."

"Come on. Not even a clue." He nudged her with his elbow.

She offered him another sign of her disinclination to tell him what he was being subjected to. Instead, taking another bite, Furia glanced at him with a defiant glint in her eyes.  The music made him furrow his brow. _What the hell is this? Redneck kid? Frisky high-pitched girls screeching? And an old woman lecturing the kid in Japanese._

"Seriously," he said, leaning toward her. "One hint."

"Patience," she replied, biting her bottom lip and raising her eyebrows at him.

"I see how it is."

She nodded and leaned back against the cushions. He had no idea what the name of the movie was, but when the tricked out little green Volkswagon cruised through a parade of high-end performance cars he could guess the subject matter.

"Well I know what it is not," he said. But Furia still refused to reveal anything, even after the race started. "Damn!"

Troy tensed up slightly with the sound of the crash. Her exaggerated wince suggested that he was not the only one that felt a pang of grief over the damage done to the little blue and orange coupe as it slammed into the support column.

"Oh! Why did he let that kid touch his car?" Troy opined after the driver smacked into a wall then proceeded to take out several of the spectators' cars. When Mona finally pulled up to the top of the parking garage, Bradshaw was shaking his head at the damage done to that poor car. "That hurts. Bad."

"I know, huh?" Furia agreed with a grin. "Pains your soul to see something that pretty just _tore up_."

Troy moved toward her slightly. "So what's the name of the movie?"

"It's _The Fast and the Furious_ people don't talk about," she replied. " _Tokyo Drift._ But Han is one of my favorite characters, so I tolerate it. But he's better in the other ones."

"Guess I shouldn't be surprised."

"Are you suggesting I'm predictable?"

Troy leaned a little closer. "So you're telling me that your favorite movies don't have races or car chases?"

Furia turned slightly and grinned up at him. "I have an eclectic taste that happens to include _some_ movies that feature cars. Why? What kind of movies do you like?"

He shrugged as he curled a lock of her hair around his index finger. "I don't really have a preference. Whatever's on."

"Yeah right." She moved toward him just a hair, hazel eyes blinking up at him. "Reciprocation," she muttered with a bit of a dare.

"I thought we already covered that."

Furia froze, wearing a telling grin.

"Thrillers," he relented.

"See. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Excruciating."

When he closed the distance, he felt her shoulder shift across his when she turned toward him. His fingers laced through her barely damp hair, as his hands moved to hold the back of her head. Bradshaw felt more comfortable with this pace, with the situation that night; much more so than he had with how things played out after the Carnales race. That exchange with its frenzied nature, having come off a race, a confrontation, and a chase, just left him with more questions than anything else. Though questions still lingered, he did at least suspect that there might have been more to her kissing him that night than the adrenaline and the rush.

With a soft chuckle she leaned away, a warm smile painting her face. Furia bit her bottom lip and reached toward the table. After sipping at her beer, she glanced over at Troy and added, "Just give it a shot. You might enjoy the sketchy late night movie selection."

 

**-4-**

Lin ignored the drunken giggling coming from the office and really wished she had turned the radio up a little louder before she slid under her car. A rather amorous couple took up residence in the black sedan on the other side of the bay. Lin intended to try and get a look at the type of work the Rollerz mechanic was doing on the Eiswolf in order to see if she could figure out what they were going to do with the car. But once Romeo and Juliet decided to test out the shocks, Lin just satisfied herself with prepping her braking system for the bleed she needed to do.

It was a calculated move, the procedure would take a while and it would also require assistance, which she had already secured. Of course, he was waiting for Lin to call him in, which she was not about to do while the couple du jour offered up their version of a porno soundtrack. The rumble of the wheels on the floor pulled Lin out of her head. With a glance to her left she caught the shy little grin and big brown eyes.

"I figured I'd give you a hand," Donnie said, with a bashful shrug of one shoulder. "What are you doing under here anyway? Thought you needed to bleed your brakes?"

"Yeah I was checking the rotors and the pads. Make sure they didn't need replacing while I had her lifted, you know?"

Donnie nodded. "You take good care of her." He slid over toward the driver's side and started his own inspection of the wheel she already checked. But Lin kept that information to herself.

"Did you already siphon the reservoir?"

"Yep."

"Well now I feel useless."

"Don't worry you can redeem yourself in a few minutes."

Both of them slid out from under her Voxel. Donnie got to his feet first and offered her his hand. She rubbed the back of her forearm over her forehead to push the hair off her face without covering it in grease and brake dust. Then she took his hand, and he pulled her to her feet.

"Can I owe you for the fluid?" she asked as she grabbed the siphon and leaned over the side of the car to make sure she had gotten all the old fluid out of the reservoir.

"No, you can't owe me for it."

When she looked over her shoulder at him he was walking toward her with the bottle. "I don't need--"

"I'm not implying you do," Donnie replied quickly. "Just I don't charge my friends for things like this."

"Oh," Lin intoned. She could not decide how to respond to that. She had planned on trying to ingratiate herself to him, but deep down she had not expected that bullshitting with him about cars and engines and braking systems would really do more than show that she was not just some skirt playing at tuning.

He set the bottles on the edge of the engine compartment and stood there for a long time silently. "Look Lin. I was thinking. Maybe you might kind of … people need to eat, right? And there's this great little diner over on the far side of town at the foot of Mount Claflin. They have the best waffles. We could grab breakfast, maybe? When we're through here?"

She worked the bubble at the end of the siphon furiously. It came up empty each time which was a good thing, except that the same thing seemed to be happening in her head. Lin kept reaching for some clever retort, some quick shutdown. But the only thing she could think to say to him was: "Sure."

He smiled at her, his head bowing a little before he looked up at her again through those impossibly long eyelashes that only men seemed to be blessed with. "Cool." He cleared his throat quickly and turned his attention back to the bottle of brake fluid he had been fidgeting with. He pulled the tab off and handed it to her. "You want to do the honors, or should I?"

"Knowing me, you should let me do it. Then if I get another bubble in the line, I can't blame you."

Donnie laughed as they traded places. Lin slid back under the car, taking a long deep breath once he was out of sight. Placing the pan, Lin pinched the tubing she placed snugly over the valve. "You ready?"

"You're good."

"Okay. I'm going to need to you just apply gentle pressure to the brakes for me," she called through the engine compartment.

"You do realize I've done this once or twice," Donnie replied with a playful tone as his voice moved with his footsteps.

"Sorry. Usually my best help are amateurs. Force of habit."

Donnie climbed into her car and she loosened the bleeder valve just about a quarter turn.

"Go ahead." Dirty fluid eked out of the tubing and into the pan. "Again."

They did this a few times before Donnie checked the fluid level. Every few cycles the dance repeated until the fluid oozing into the pan ran clean. Then they repeated it with the other brake. He topped off the reservoir and closed it as she slid out from under the car.

"Thanks," Lin said, sitting on the creeper while she pulled off the gloves she had worn to keep the brake fluid off her skin. She hated latex gloves, they always seemed to leave her hands all cakey which was almost worse than greasy, at least in her opinion.

Donnie's hand was there again--an offer of chivalrous assistance, something she would usually deck a guy for. Except with him she realized he was merely trying to be polite, not a pig, so she took it despite her usual aversion to such displays.

"Just give me a minute to wash up." Lin hurried toward the basin at the back of the bay. She had almost forgotten about the couple until she heard the door of the Eiswolf close quietly. In a glance her eyes met Meiko's just before the other woman's darted away as she followed the large shadowy man who held tightly to the little woman's hand.

The clap of the hood being lowered resounded through the cavernous space and preceded Donnie's arrival beside her. Lin shook her hands a few times while he scrubbed at his own.

"Do you know who that guy was with Meiko?" She should not ask, she knew, but there was something in the look on the girl's face that had Lin a little on edge suddenly.

"Frankie." Donnie's tone was short and clipped.

"What do you know about him?"

"Nothing. And believe me most people prefer it that way," he said, glancing up at her as she stared off in the direction the pair had walked, even if they were long out of sight. "You still up for waffles?"

"Yeah. Why don't we take my car?" she offered.

"Want to test out the brakes, huh?"

Lin smiled and nodded. "Guilty."

 

**-5-**

"Look. I appreciate the offer, but I think I've encroached on your hospitality more than long enough," Furia said, looking up at Troy as she leaned against the door.

Troy set his hand near her head and leaned over her. "There's still some activity out there."

"My cab should be here shortly. And it's probably better if I leave."

"You might be right," he murmured as the distance between them continued to shrink again.

The light brush of his lips on hers made her stomach light. As the kiss deepened the feeling quickly moved to her head. While his hand slipped around her, cradling her to him, she held onto his waist tightly. It took every shred of her concentration to end the kiss. Furia turned quickly and pulled open the door. She slipped past him, through the door, before she could come up with a reason not to.

"Furia. Maybe we could do this again sometime."

"Bad movies and pizza? I think I can swing that."

She liked the way he smiled at her as he leaned against the doorjamb, all temptation with a trace of irresistible sweetness. _One last quick kiss. Just a nip_ , she thought, leaning up toward him. It lasted longer than she planned. But Furia was already aware that her motives meant about nothing that night.

"Yeah. Um … G'night," she stated quickly, more in an attempt to convince herself to leave. She definitely needed to go home. When the elevator door closed her into the small space on her own, Furia closed her eyes and took several deep breaths.

When she showed up on his doorstep earlier, her intentions were innocent, well, mostly. The woman was not foolish enough to believe that any thought she had about Troy Bradshaw was completely devoid of ulterior motives, but she had honestly not intended anything that happened in his apartment that night. Deep down part of her knew that if she had taken him up on his offer to stay neither of them would have spent the night on the couch, even though it had been suggested.

A smile bloomed on her face as she exited on the north side of the building and checked the street for her cab. This conclusion was much preferred for a myriad of reasons. She had no intention of being someone's Mol; she had worked too hard to let it all fall away now. And in comparison to the last time she up and kissed Troy, his reaction that night seemed stark in comparison. Even so, all she did know was that there was something there and she was not the only one experiencing it.

Furia would never admit it, but as she smiled widely at the approaching headlights, excitement bubbled up in consideration of the looming possibility. There was something there. Not knowing what would not change the fact that it existed. And she hoped for the chance to maybe figure it out.

"Where to?" the driver asked when she climbed into the backseat.

"Paseo Park and Tenth," Furia replied as she yanked the door closed. She pulled the borrowed track jacket a little tighter around herself as she sank against the backseat.

Her plans for the job in Sunnyvale Gardens had gone to hell. Her intentions after had gone astray. But all in all Furia could not help but be just a little bit pleased with the way the night turned out. Figuring it out could come later, she told herself. Right now, she just wanted to enjoy it.


	24. Plazo Morado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Furia's race on the Westside goes to plan even if it gets a little weird before she gets to the line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Chy!

**24 Plazo Morado**

**-1-**

Troy ignored the thumping base that pounded off the stone of the nave in the church. The deeper into the church he got the more subdued the music became eventually it was replaced by murmuring in Spanish. He tried to bite back the smile, but he knew it failed. The other night he had not wanted her to leave, and if he were entirely honest with himself he was thrilled to hear that frustrated tone.

Peeking around the corner, he caught sight of her kneeling at the door and hissing a curse at the stubborn old lock. She sat back on her calves for a moment before straightening again to give the tumblers another go. Apparently, Mikey was not the only getting an education from their association.

"I would figure you knew how to rake a lock," he finally said.

The little jump in her shoulders suggested he startled her. Before she stood, Furia grabbed the tools she dropped when he crept up on her. "Yeah, well, with cars it feels different to me. And usually there I have easier and faster options to get in and get one started." She leaned her shoulder against the door and glanced up at him. "After all, some of us actually know how to hotwire a car," she taunted with an easy smirk.

Troy stepped toward her, his eyes never leaving hers. "You offering to take on another student?"

She shrugged one shoulder, meeting his gaze comfortably. "Might be only fair, given that you're teaching me to shoot."

"Speaking of which," he said, looming over her for a moment before thinking better of it and crossing the room where he dropped the bag in his hand on the desk. "Have you been making progress with that?"

Another shrug. Furia leaned on the opposite side of the desk.

"So Mikey hasn't been showing you how to use that rifle?" He already knew the answer before he asked the question.

"Nah. I've had… well, a full schedule of late."

"I've heard. What's on the agenda for today? I almost never see you in the church."

"Borrowing a car for a race."

"Ah," he replied with a slow nod. "Westside boys again?"

Furia nodded. "I don't have an in with the VKs racers yet. You warned me off Vu, and Lin needs to beat me now that I've driven their boys into the ground the last three races. I ran your girl twice that first night."

Troy smiled as he dug his keys out of his pocket and palmed them. "What are you talking about--Lin needing to beat you?"

"Lin's doing the same thing I am. Just trying to make her bones, you know?"

He nodded, watching her carefully as he rounded the desk and walked slowly toward her.

"She out drives them, but it doesn't hold as much weight because she's wearing blue. And Lin mentioned that digging in has been a little too slow going for her tastes and Julius' purposes. _So_ , she figured after I did so well that first night, I could come in, make a few of their boys cry then she could step in and relieve the embarrassment."

Furia shrugged and set one hip on the desk. "I think she was hoping I'd take their slips. Save for the fact that I've been using a borrowed car I would have been more than happy to. So, I just took their money. Figured I'd catch a little hell if I managed to lose your girl to some little suburban momma's boy."

"Just a little," he agreed. "You're not running for slips tonight are you?"

"No. Lin knows I'm going to play along so even if I had my own wheels this would be an all-cash run."

"How's your Hammerhead coming along?"

"Slower than I would like. That's why Mikey and I were out all night," she explained, covering a yawn.

"And that explains why there were no whispers making the rounds here about your next stunt."

Furia leaned toward him a little. "My best capers don't make the rounds until after I've pulled them off."

Following her lead, Troy trailed the back of his fingers along her jaw as he bowed his head toward her. "I noticed."

With a little stretch, her lips brushed his in a teasing soft kiss. He succumbed to it too easily; his hand slipping behind her head and pulling her that much closer.

"No. Seriously. I was out all night and I just really want to sleep," Mikey's voice carried down the hall, prompting Bradshaw to pull away before he got the chance to get too greedy.

She bit her bottom lip and looked up at him through those lush lashes. Taking a few steps away he tossed his keys at her, before crossing to a cabinet behind his desk.

"Did Mikey give you any practice tumblers?" he asked, tugging open the door.

"No. Didn't have the chance," the kid answered for her from the doorway. "I was showing her some tricks on an old padlock I had in my glove box while we were killing time."

After opening a few small cardboard boxes Troy pulled one out. "But she's got a full set?"

"Yeah. My spare."

"I told you …" Furia directed at Mikey.

"Three hundred," Troy said matter-of-factly to no one in particular. "I'll call our guy and I should have the set in a day or two. Completely off the books. In the meantime." He set the rattling box on the desk near her. "Tumblers 'o' plenty."

Mikey chuckled. "That's pretty much how I learned. Dad never threw anything away. He had a box like that in his workshop just chock full of every kind of lock imaginable."

"Comes in handy," Troy agreed. He glanced up back to Furia, still perched on the edge of the desk picking through the dusty locks. "You get any work in on that rifle on your own?" he asked, causing her to look at him curiously. But there was a method to his madness.

"Not since the last time," she replied, her head tilting to the side slightly.

"Tomorrow. Eleven," he said. Troy knew when he said it that if Mikey had not been there he would have asked rather than ordered. But when that issue came up with the others he never asked, so it would have seemed strange to ask her, so he kept up the appearance. There were more reasons than just her brother to make things seem normal.

"That will work. I didn't have anything planned." The Latina hopped off the edge of the desk and started toward the door, which prompted Mikey to head down the hall. "Should I just pick you up?" she asked, jingling his keys at him.

He considered it for a moment, but remembered the message he had gotten earlier. "Appreciate the offer, but I have some things to take care of in the morning."

Furia shrugged. "Then I'll drop her off after the race."

Troy nodded at her and she cast a wink at him before turning and leaving.

Figuring this thing out was one thing, figuring it out at the church was another. What had seemed a huge relief earlier, just managed to take on a new level of concern. _Prudence_ , he thought, though so far all his attempts in that arena had failed miserably, he reminded himself as he fell into his chair. His hand scrubbed along his chin for a moment as he stared at the door.

 

**-2-**

The gathering spot, as always, felt like a mobile block party. There were coolers in the backs of tricked out little pickups, and several of the whips held their power under their trunk decks rather than their hoods. The bass pounded and she could hear the reverberation in the window glass before she rolled the front ones down, which allowed her to be directly assaulted by the collection of sound systems.

Furia was starting to like these scenes. The sound of music with heavy bass and engines revving, energetic cheers and the buzz of conversation, and the curt little nods people cast at her as she steered the Bootlegger through the line were becoming something she enjoyed more than she probably should. On any other corner in Stilwater that night blue, yellow, red, and purple would have led to a fight or a shoot out, but here in this crowd they let the beasts battle it out. There was trash talking and there were taunts, but all in all the tangles were solved by the speed of your car and the skill of the driver.

"Oye, Morada," a big Cuban called from across the street where he leaned against a sweet little orange Vortex.

"Moosey! Whose dick did you suck?" she asked, gesturing to the snazzy car he was showing off.

The big man laughed as she jogged across the street. The two shook hands regardless of the fact that he was sporting a blue track jacket and she had on purple boots. She knew it was just like the conversation with Vu on the Southside.

"She's gorgeous, cabrón. Yours or did you boost her?" Furia asked leaning back and eying the car.

"I'm wounded."

"Bullshit!"

Another deep chortle. "Nah, she's mine--papers and all."

"¡Maldito sea! Bueno," Furia said with an appraising nod.

"Yeah, she's a sweet piece," Moose tilted his head and let his eyes wander over the Saint.

Furia shook her head. _And it always comes down to that_ , she thought. _Lin's got to be catching a lot of hell here._ "Luckily for you, even on a slow day she could make people sweat. You put anything under her hood or is she factory."

He winced, leaned back, and ran his hand along the finish of the hood. "Factory-tuned. For now."

"Aww," she crooned and laughed lightly.

"Ay, mija. ¿Es que tu galán[i]?" he asked.

"¿Que?"

He pointed up the strip, and sure enough there was Troy. _What the hell is he doing here?_ Furia asked herself. But she did not have a chance to come up with an answer.

"Hey you, chava!"

Furia turned, knowing there were not a whole lot of people at this race that would call anyone that or would be called that. She turned her head and saw the thin Chinese woman striding toward her. It was all she could do not to smile, but Furia kept it together. Instead she squared her shoulders and set her hands on her hips.

"Hey Moose," Lin said quickly. "Consorting with the new kids, huh?" She tipped her head in Furia's direction.

"You must have me confused," the Latina bit back. "I've been taking your boys for rides for a while now."

"What you do on your back in your free time isn't my concern."

The Latina's chin lowered. _This is an interesting twist_ , she thought, _but I'll play along_. "Maybe after I lighten your wallet, I'll give you a firsthand show. Or are you afraid I'll make you scream my name louder than they did?" Furia taunted, stepping toward Lin.

"You think you got something, little girl?"

"I know I do."

"Bring it to the line."

"You don't have to worry about me. I'll spank you just like your pitiful baby blue boyfriends."

Furia knew they were racing. Furia expected a little show. But she did not expect Lin to shove her. The flagged Saint launched toward the fake Roller as several people came between them.

"Don't you worry, puta, I got what you need," Furia growled, trying to pull the hands off her but they were quick and unyielding.

Lin played it with just as much volatility as her counterpart; she was trying to climb over the shoulder of the little guy who had put himself between the two females.

"Come on, Lin. Calm down," the guy holding onto her said.

"Let your cars do the talking, chiquitas," Moose said, earning him a glare from both sides.

"What are you doing?"Troy hissed in Furia's ear, his voice breaking through her shock.

 

**-3-**

"We'll settle this on the line, Morada," Lin called over Donnie's shoulder, using the designation that Furia had earned from Moosey after she beat him the first go around. The name merely meant purple and she was labeled such because that was the flag she flew. Of course, more often than not the nickname earned the privilege of an accompanying noun, but usually only when out of earshot of the target.

"Come on, Lin. She's not worth the hassle. Put her in her place where it counts," Donnie said, holding onto her waist tightly. The mechanic did not have any illusions about being able to do anything more than maybe make the petite woman in the white halter think an extra second before she barreled through him to get to the other driver. Thankfully, she walked backward with him.

Casting a glance over his shoulder a similar scene was playing out with Moose and the other pair. "What the hell was that about?" Donnie asked once she seemed to have calmed a bit.

"Nothing. Just … stuff."

"Yeah, that looked like more than stuff." He looked back at the other woman who was glaring their direction. Her eyes met his and she tipped her head at him in challenge.

When Lin shrugged slightly, her body lurching forward, he put his hand on her shoulder and tried to turn her away from the confrontational Latina. As he got her farther into the sea of blue and closer to her car, he let his hand move between her shoulder blades.

 

**-4-**

"What the hell was that?" Troy asked as he pinned her against the side of his car after leading her away from the site of the confrontation.

"Acting," Furia replied. There was the barest hint of playfulness in her eyes as she grinned up at him. "Though it would have been nice if she'd have warned me, but I get it. She wanted to make a show."

"Well, you two did draw a bit of attention."

Furia nodded slightly. "Lin didn't just want to say, _hey let's race_. No one would be interested in two skirts taking a leisurely spin around the course. But if there was something else there."

"You'd draw a crowd and her legging you out would earn her more than just cred with the rest of the girls. She might actually get a viable rep."

"Ladies and gentlemen, he can be taught," she chided with a smirk. Furia leaned back slightly and looked at him in just that way--the one she that usually made his mind go fuzzy. "Now. What the _hell_ are _you_ doing here, Troy?"

"Keeping an eye on my car."

"Para nada[ii]. I'm not buying it," she replied, quirking her eyebrow at him.

"A few things came up."

"You could have called."

Furia relaxed against the car, putting a little more space between them. Troy followed suit, straightening and tucking his hands in his pockets. Even if this was a relatively Saint-free zone, they both knew Lin was there and the last thing Troy really wanted to do was advertise whatever the fuck he and Furia were doing to anyone wearing purple.

It was almost funny, every other time they wound up at a race together there was this almost consuming heat between them, but now it almost felt like it might be too much temptation. He wondered for a few seconds if he could toe that line, but opted not to push it.

"Besides," Furia started, her hands skimming his waist as she straightened, "it's not like I joyride her afterwards. Usually I bring her straight home--I know how men are about their cars."

"Didn't think anything else. I just got a call about something that's going to have to be handled tonight."

"Need a hand?" she asked, taking a few steps then pulling the car door open.

"No, I think I can handle it on my own." He closed the door for her and leaned against the car. "Good luck."

"The skilled don't need luck," she said with a big grin. She shifted slightly then looked back up at him. "Want to do me a tiny favor? Put this on me with one of their books. That way they won't question things."

"You always bet on yourself?"

"Wouldn't you?"

He did not answer her question, at least not out loud.

 

**-5-**

Two blue-clad mols crossed the street with spray paint. Lin grinned and shook her head. Neither of them seemed to notice that they were getting at least as much paint on their calves as they were on the ground, but either way there was a line. The little black Bootlegger was the first to the line but Lin waited for the other two drivers to cruise forward--a little silver Cosmos and a Destiny that had none.

She was damn near certain that car wouldn't even make it past the first turn. In all honesty, she knew the only person who would make this race fun was Furia. Deep down a part of her wished it was a real race, though she knew the Saint would make it look good. Judging from her reaction when they discussed it, there was no way the other driver wanted this to happen, but she would put her rep on the line and just roll over because it was what needed to be done. That was something that Johnny told Lin about Furia--she got it done.

Turning the key over in the ignition, Lin closed her eyes and savored that sweet sound for a moment. She smacked her palm against the steering wheel.

"Don't sweat it, gorgeous. She's not as good as she thinks she is," Donnie said, smiling at Lin as he leaned on the edge of her window. "She's only seen two of my engines, and she's never gone up against yours." There was a trace of insinuation mixed with pride in his voice.

Lin turned her head, her eyes meeting his. There was a confidence in his gaze, but it was not confidence in himself it was in her, which took her by surprise.

He let the backs of his fingers graze her shoulder and that shy little gaze returned. "You got this."

"I know," she replied.

"See you at the finish."

As she pulled up to the line, the blue-clad Saint noticed Troy talking to the race's book--Moosey. The exchange was less obvious than others as they exchanged a nod. Bradshaw looked in her direction as he crossed the line. She bit back the smile when he noticed that her fellow lieutenant did the same thing with the other drivers as well.

Lin still was not sure if she believed Bradshaw's little claim that it was all for show. In the nearly three years she had known him, she only recalled even hearing about one incident when he let someone drive that damn car. Even then she was nearly certain Johnny only got to drive because Troy was busy bleeding profusely in the passenger seat. _Of course, it's possible he's doing it just to help you out_ , Lin thought as she noticed them both glance at her.

Furia tipped her chin at her from down the line then blew her a kiss. Lin smirked, nodding as she flipped the other driver off. The Latina laughed, nodding while Moosey cleared the line. Cash collected, drivers strapped in, crowd itching for it, and the sweet heady sound of engines revving. Even the asthmatic purr of that sad little Destiny could not mar the pure music that rumbled off the line as neutral engines revved.

That moment just before the ready always excited Lin. Even before she started racing it gave her a rush--the excitement, the promise, and, goddamn, the engines. That's one thing her friends almost never understood. Lin really did get off on cars: working on them, driving them, hell just the sound of a well-tuned powerhouse could get her excited, and if it happened to be an engine she tuned that just made it all the better.

Of course, that was probably the reason Lin liked Furia as well as she did. In that first race, she had seen the same kind of look on the other woman's face. Furia's enjoyment of a fine engine seemed as keen as Lin's own. With a deep breath, she shook off the thought as the powerful V-8 growled at the ready call. _Damn Troy knows his engines. That thing is sexy._

When the signal dropped, Lin's mind cleared. The engines sang in chorus for a moment, but just like she predicted the quartet quickly became a duet. The Voxel pounced off the line, but, also like she guessed, Furia was not going to let her outright have it without making it interesting. The first turn did not go the way she planned and the other driver took advantage. Her nose skimmed the higher bumper of the muscle car and Lin smirked when Furia's tail waggled just a bit.

"Yeah, I'm still here."

She tried to slip past the black car, but the driver anticipated her--clipping left then right, stealing the momentum from the Voxel's engine. "I really was hoping you would make this fun."

Lin cackled joyously as she slid to the inside of Furia on a turn, but the other woman still pushed her. Then the Bootlegger took back the lead on the next turn. The Voxel held steady sticking to the rear quarter panel of the muscle car, even through the playful part of the course, several quick turns in succession that slowed both their speeds tremendously.

"Damn, girl, you really can drive," Lin said, up shifting out of the last turn and onto the home stretch. "We are most definitely going to have to do this again with no holds barred."

Running through the gears, the Voxel raced after the Bootlegger. She winced when she started making up the distance the turn left between them. On the straight like this, with no spray she should not have that kind of line on Furia. _Not in that car_ , she knew. Lin was a racer. She knew how hard what she asked Furia to do was. What she had not anticipated was just how crappy it would feel to take a win that might just not be hers.

Once Lin's nose eked out in front, Furia kept pace with her occasionally lurching out a head of the Voxel for good measure, but always letting the Roller take the lead back. As they approached the line, the adrenaline rush that always spoiked at the close of a race just seemed to be pissing her off. She growled at the speedometer and glanced to her left, the gloss black was right there.

_Fuck, she's even going to make it look like I eked her out._

The race turned out to be more than Lin had even asked Furia for. She pushed hard, and even letting Lin have it was going to make it look like the woman in blue earned the win. _Good money says she'll even sell it after the loss._ Of course, Furia had every reason to be pissed, so that might not be too much of an act. It was Lin that was going to have to deliver an Oscar-worthy performance when the engines stopped. She was going to have to pretend she actually fucking won this race.

"Ugh," she barked as she crossed the line. Lin waited a few extra seconds to ease up off the gas. She smacked the steering wheel hard.

The crowd welcomed the victorious driver back to the line. Lin pulled to a stop and caught a quick exchange--a hand on a hip and a short intimate whisper that led to an exchange of keys. Furia offered the blue and white vehicle with a glare before she slid into the passenger seat. Lin didn't even have the chance to think about it before the taps on her car resounded through her head.

"I told you. Burned her," Donnie said, jerking her door open.

Lin smirked. Thankfully, whenever she won a race, she reacted with a calm and cool aloofness, so the somberness of her appearance did not seem out of the norm to anyone. She nodded when Moosey handed her the pot, which she pocketed quickly. She sulked, while the crowd of blue was still celebrating.

"I was beginning to wonder if anyone was going to take that Saint down a peg. Guess she'll think twice about bringing that sad little whip back up here," Chuck noted as he leaned on Lin's hood.

When Lin swatted him off her car, as Moosey strolled over. The big man laughed at the blonde kid. "Pinche idiota. Morada's a driver. She'll be back, especially since she's already driven off with your pride. You're lucky she let you keep your wheels, kid. So you might want to keep your mouth shut."

 

[i] Es que tu galán: Is that you guy (boyfriend)?

[ii] Para nada: No way.


	25. Out & In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of throwing a race, Furia winds up giving Troy the perfect out. While Lin thinks she has the perfect in with the Rollerz, if she can get Furia to push the right buttons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to Chy for her attention to detail and excellent suggestions.

** **

**Ch 25: Out and In**

**-1-**

Furia sat on the front stoop, one leg crossed over the other. It dangled back and forth slowly as she kicked it absently while she waited. She leaned on her knee, checking the street coming from both directions. She saw the same squad car pass by twice and each time she tauntingly blew a little kiss at the passenger. _Quequito is way outside of his usual patrol route_. With a shake of her head she dismissed her concern over the cops lapping her block.

She cooperated with the boys in blue once and it went so well it was likely never to happen again. _Yeah, that's right. Keep on cruising, because there is absolutely zero chance I'll ever let a cop get cuffs on me again_ , she thought with a half-smile and a nod at the car that passed again. If they called what she did before was resisting, Furia kind of wanted to know how they would classify it if she actually did refuse to go along with them. Luckily the possibilities got little to no thought because before the car could swing by for another pass her ride arrived.

Troy was true to his text message, if a few minutes later than the time he sent her. The Bootlegger stopped at the curb and she could not resist returning the smile he cast her direction as she crossed the sidewalk. Furia leaned on the roof of the car and waved sweetly as the black and white passed by again.

"What the hell was that?" Troy asked as she slipped into the passenger seat.

"My fan club," she said with a slight shrug. "It seems that little guy from the Marina misses me."

"One of those guys is the one you decked?"

"Ay, Quequito," she crooned as she leaned back.

"The cupcake?" Troy asked with a little bark of a laugh.

Furia nodded.

"How long has this been going on?"

Another shrug. "A few weeks I think, well I noticed them about then. Don't we have someplace to be?" she inquired, one eyebrow cocked at him curiously.

"Yeah." There was a tense note in his voice and Troy nodded thoughtfully for a moment as he pulled away from the curb.

The dull thud of his thumb tapping against the steering wheel with little to no rhythm to it was the only sound that pervaded the car for quite some time. At least until he finished whatever thought process ran through that head of his or until he realized quite how quiet it was. He clicked on the radio, leaving it low enough to not discourage conversation, as the thumb began anew although now it carried the beat of whatever song was playing.

"What was so important last night?" Furia propped her foot on the dash shaking her knee back and forth.

"Huh?" he asked as if shocked to hear her speak.

"Last night? You popped up at the race in dire need of your car, or so you said."

He nodded. "A few of the new guys got jammed up in the Barrio."

"Which is why you didn't need help from the likes of moi?"

He chuckled and glanced over at her for a moment. "I figured you'd rather not join me for a trip to the lockup."

She laughed lightly. "Ya think? They'd probably have dressed up a cell all pretty for me, with bed bug infested sheets and everything," she grumbled, adding her other foot to the dash and hugging her knees.

She noticed Troy's jaw flex, when his eyes flitted to the dash, she let her feet drop. "Sorry, forgot how men can be about their precious interiors. It drives Memo up a tree when I do that, too."

"It's not that," he started then stopped. "Yeah. It was."

Their laughter rumbled through the car.

"Speaking of last night. You doing any better with all that?" Troy asked with a sly little smile.

"Would you be?" she groused, crossing her arms over her chest in an almost juvenile way.

"Tanked a race, damaged my rep, and I lost a grand just to make it all _look good_." The last two words carried a sing song tone that made him chuckle softly. Furia shook her head, but when she started speaking again she gestured rather more wildly than even she expected. "You know what though? The bitch of it is--I had her. Pretty much from that first turn she was mine. Her backend slid wide and I eased right into the sweet spot on that turn and that was all she wrote. Even if she had sprayed on the stretch I could have still taken her. I was eased back so much I had horses to burn coming over the line."

Her irritation was clear in her voice, though it was a damn sight better than the silent sulk she had given him last night in the short trip from the race meet up to the cab stand near Glitz.

"You tell her that?" Troy asked, closing the window after flicking the butt through the crack.

"Haven't had the chance?"

Troy grinned and his voice held way too much glee. "Do me a favor and let me know when you do, I'd like to capture that for posterity."

Furia punched him in the shoulder, shaking her head.

"The two of you are so alike, you and I both know how well that revelation will go over," he quipped. When they stopped at the red light, he leaned on the console and looked at her. Furia shook her head in disagreement. "And I guess if I suggested I could beat you, you wouldn't get irked?"

"Not in the least," she replied. She moved toward him slowly, finally stopping temptingly close. "Because I know you can't."

His smile widened at the challenge. "Oh, really?"

The impatient honking from behind them drew his attention away from her before she was ready to relinquish it.

"You sure about that?" he taunted as they turned off the main drag, heading toward the dirt road that would take them up to the ridge.

"With the way I've seen you drive. Oh, yeah."

"I think you underestimate me."

Furia eyed him for a long moment. "No, probably not."

Troy glanced over at her with a look that could only be classified as shock. Furia just chuckled as she leaned back against her seat.

"If I go by Vu's reputation alone and the fact you beat him, you can probably hold your own. But you're a very different driver than I am. You exert yourself on the car," she said, sliding back toward the middle.  "I mean look at the way you're strangling the steering wheel like you're trying to dominate it."

Furia laughed lightly when he immediately loosened his hold.

"It's not just that. You don't seem connected to the car. When you shoot, there's no difference between you and your Vice," she explained, tapping the weapon she knew rested just under his shoulder. "It's natural and part of you, which I just can't manage to get with a gun. But put me in a car and it's like putting a gun in your hand, or any weapon in Johnny's--there is just this innate link created. And that's why I'd beat you, even if your car was bigger monster than mine. I can make a car purr, make her dance in ways you can only imagine."

Suddenly she realized that her fingertips had been absently tracing nonsensical patterns on the top of his thigh as she practically climbed onto the console. She shrank back to her side of the car, returning some of his personal space to him.

When they reached the ridge, Troy set the parking brake and shut off the engine. As she reached for the door, his hand brushed her cheek and he pulled her toward him. The touch of his lips was soft, at first, but with no one around to interrupt the kiss it deepened quickly as warmth rolled down her spine. Finally, she looked up at him, her breathing shallower.

"This isn't just an elaborate scheme, is it?"

"For what?" he asked, still close, his thumb tracing over her cheek.

"An alternative to pizza and a bad movie," she hinted with a shy little smile.

He laughed a little nervously. "As great an idea as that is, no." Troy smirked at her. "Why do you think that?"

"Because you didn't suggest coming up here to shoot until Mikey showed up, and you didn't ask. You always asked before."

Troy nodded, with a little grimace curving his lips downward for a moment. "I might have taken a little liberty, but it doesn't change the fact that you need practice on that McManus."

When he started to pull away her hand tightened on his jacket. She guided the tip of her nose to brush his then pecked his lips. "As long as it's about the guns, I'm good," she said, reclining away and reaching for the door.

This time he let her exit. Bradshaw followed a few moments later and opened the trunk. "What if it wasn't just about the rifle?" he asked carefully, hands resting on the open deck lid.

Furia stepped toward him, letting her hand slip into his unbuttoned coat. "I think I'm good with that, too."

He stared at her for a moment before he kissed her, hard and deep in sharp contrast to the way he had moments earlier. He pulled her tight to him as her hand slid up his back. This time she was the one that pulled away. "We're supposed to be shooting," she said a sly little smile forming on her lips. "And if you stare at my ass the entire time, I swear--"

"You never had a problem with it any other time," he chided. When she slapped him on the arm, Troy just chuckled at her. "It won't be a problem. We're going to try something a little bit different this time around.  Situations allowing for prone shots can be rare, though it is the most accurate shooting position."

Though there was a stitch of comfort in the fact that she did not spend the next several hours little more than spread eagle on the ground. The sitting and kneeling positions she fired from were not much relief, as he would lean over her or kneel behind her when correcting her positioning and making suggestions. The proximity was tempting for both of them and they each took advantage of it in small careful ways.

Troy crouched again, setting a hand on her shoulder before tugging the bright orange foam plug from her ear. When his fingers brushed her neck lightly, Furia shivered, shaking her head at him with a trace of a grin, which he mirrored.

"Turn for me," he ordered, touching her knee gently to get her to face perpendicular to the target. "This is going to seem a little weird but trust me."

Furia cocked her eyebrow at him incredulously. "That's what they all say," she chided and he laughed at her, continuing to line her up for the 90-degree shooting position. Okay. You were right this is weird," she agreed, trying to get comfortable with the shift.

"Just try it."

With a shake of her head she tucked the earplug back in and tried to find the line for the shot. Before she took it however she straightened a little and glanced at him. Troy shrugged apologetically and stood then took a few steps back. She did not really mind the hovering, but it was a little distracting when she was trying to concentrate. The shots seemed to be a little more off in this position than they had been in the previous one.

Her groan echoed in her ears when she felt the little humming vibration against her hip. Tugging out the earplug, she laid the gun down and dug the phone out of her pocket. The fact that it was the default ringtone set her on edge and inspired her to answer it as quickly as she could.

 

**-2-**

When the shots stopped Troy directed his attention back to the woman again crouched not far from him. Her fingers toyed with the ridges and smooth lines of the weapon lying across her legs as she listened to the caller on the other end of the line. "Sure. That's not a problem. Si, I'll be there."

He enjoyed her laugh; it was laced with touch of quiet joy, which for him was too tempting.

"I got it," she insisted with a note of impatience. "I'll see you then. Sip."

"What was that about?"

"Guess last night worked," she said in a calm tone as she stood. "Lin wants to meet this afternoon."

"So she finally found her in?" he asked, taking the rifle from her.

"Looks like. Good money says it is the little guy that pulled her out of our scuffle last night."

"And you don't know him?"

"I was about to ask you the same question."

Troy shook his head as he packed away the weapon. "I've seen him once or twice, but I did not run much against these guys. They tend to prefer their little rices."

"And you have a sizable weak spot for a V-8?" she asked, resting her hip against the edge of the car.

Troy smiled at her, snapping the clasps on the case closed. "Among other things," he insinuated with a smirk.

"You don't say." Furia's sing-song tone was as much as taunt as a temptation. As her hands slid around his waist, he brushed the hair away from her face.

"What are you doing tonight?"

"Depends on what Lin has planned, I guess."

"When are you meeting her?"

"After two, when the place opens."

Troy checked his watch.  "You know it's a little after one, right? Where are you meeting her?"

"I don't think it is your kind of place."

Troy cocked an eyebrow at her.

"The Golden Slipper."

"Oh," he said, furrowing his brow.

"And I can't let you drive me," she said, quietly. "And not just because someone would probably recognize the car, or you."

"Then why?"

Furia spun out of his grasp and started a slow stroll. There was curious exasperation in her sigh as she faced him again. "Troy, look," she started then stopped again as she tried to find the precise way to say what was on her mind. Then she turned and looked at him. "God, there is no good way to say this, so I'm going to level with you. I'm trying to build a reputation here. And to be honest I wasn't banking on you, but I really don't want to be watered down to someone's girl."

The admission was nothing if not sheepish and extremely careful. She bit her lip and there was what he assumed was concern in her gaze. He was nearly certain she took that approach because she did not know what to expect from him.

"Someone's girl, huh?" he asked, leaning on the side of the car.

She closed the distance between them. As she set her hands on his chest, her fingertips stroked across the weave of the rugby shirt he was wearing. "I don't know what we're doing, but I was thinking that maybe until we figured it out we could just keep it between us."

He did not say anything at first, debating. It was an out. He could balk--that thought was vetoed before it even took hold. But he knew her approach would be beneficial to him as well. The more out in the open they were the more likely that it would get back to his handler. And he did not want her on Alan's radar any more than she already was.

"Given certain circumstances, your brother among them," he said with a playful grin, "that might be a good idea."

Bradshaw kissed her quickly and she looked up at him stunned at his quick acquiescence.

"Memo's bark is worse than his bite."

"Maybe. Not sure I want to test that theory though."

"Then we won't. For now."

Troy laced his fingers behind her back. "Now. About tonight?"

"I told you. We'll see. It's as good as I can do until I talk to Lin."

 

**-3-**

The Golden Slipper was a small specialty club not far from the Red Light District; it was in a relatively sparse area of town not far from the bridge. It was the one bar in Stilwater that men tended to avoid as it serviced a very specific clientele. Furia was familiar with this spot, she had tended bar in about every dive in the city at some point--up until she would threaten a customer that pounced past the lines of bad manners. She had spent two months working the holidays at the Slipper while one of their bartenders was on maternity leave.

After the cab dropped her off, she crossed the parking lot at a leisurely pace. Once she stepped inside she stilled for a moment letting her eyes adjust to the darkness, a sharp whistle called her attention to the corner booth where a hand waved at her. The place hadn't changed all that much and it was still shockingly busy during the daytime, Furia noted as she scooted past a few full tables.

"¿Que tal, _chava_?" Furia said as she slid into the booth.

Lin glanced up from the tall glass with a dark purplish colored liquid brightened by a bright swirl of orange rind dangling on the rim. There was an identical glass on Furia's side of the table.

"Well, it worked," the lieutenant said in a tone that suggested she was less than pleased with the way the things played out the night before.

"So you got your in?"

The other woman nodded as she took a drink. "Yep. But I need to solidify it."

"And I'm guessing the little guy from last night has something to do with it. Am I right?" Furia pulled the straw out of the glass and laid it on the white napkin followed by the orange peel.

"From what I gather a guy named Price is in charge, and the one from last night is Donnie. He's Price's mechanic and apparently the two of them are really tight. I figure he might be our ticket in, well, my ticket," Lin noted, playing with her straw. "I figure pushing one more button could put me into play."

"I don't know. The two of you looked pretty cozy last night."

Lin's dark eyes met Furia's. "That's for appearances, except he doesn't know that of course."

"That was pretty obvious the way he jumped between us."

"What about you and Troy?"

"It's easier to pretend to be someone's girl at a race than to be seen as something to claim. You and I both know that," Furia managed with a straight face. "So what's this last move you need to make?"

"Retribution. Like you said, Donnie jumped between us. He's a little more high profile than I am, in that he can be gotten to fairly easily." Lin took a long pull on her drink. "You're going to take a few of the boys and go to his garage. Shoot the place up, scare the piss out of him--a little."

Furia chuckled at the suggestion.

"He'll probably think that you're there for me given our little tiff last night."

"And here I just thought that was for show," Furia replied with a smug grin.

"What can I say? I'm thorough and I like to plan ahead."

"I see that," Furia said with a tip of her head

"Once you've made a bit of a mess, I'll swoop in and drag Donnie out of there. Bring something pitiful, give chase and lose us. I'll take him back to my place."

Lin made a show of flipping over the napkin under her glass. When Furia did the same, she found the reason for the display.

"I'm hoping that he'll freak out enough to call Price, or vice versa. And if you or one of this crew I hear you've been running is waiting, you'll be able to follow. Maybe we'll get lucky enough to get something we can use."

"I think we can handle all of that." Furia took a sip of the concoction and knew it was probably a Sangre--cinnamon tequila, Cointreau, red wine, and ginger ale. "Anything special to add?"

"No, that should do it. Don't lose that burner quite yet though."

Furia patted her pocket as she stood. "As per our schedule I'll have it a few more days. We doing this today?"

"This evening. He's going to have some guys there about a car. It will give you some other targets and make it more feasible that you might miss him. That and your horrible aim."

With a laugh, the Latina shook her head. "Thankfully, that's not common knowledge. I'll get everything ready and be over there in a few hours."

"Good. And just watch yourself. Bradshaw seems to think he knows what is appropriate where. But I'm going to tell you what my grandmother always told me: When a woman is as pretty as you are, a man is incapable of telling the truth. So watch yourself."

"Thanks for the advice," Furia replied with a nod. "Watch yourself with that boy."

"Don't you worry about me," Lin said, offering Furia her hand, which the other woman shook before walking out of the bar.

Furia was fine with the plan. It was the other topic of conversation that caught her off guard. Of course the displays the young woman knew that Lin had witnessed had been a little on the fiery side of things, but Furia could not help but wonder if her interest were more obvious than it seemed. When she recalled the lieutenant's wording the Latina felt that maybe she jumped too far for that conclusion. It sounded more like Lin was warning her to beware of Troy's unrequited interests. For a second she wondered quite how Lin would respond if she knew Furia's leanings.

With a shake of her head, she left the Slipper, which was touted as the only true lesbian bar in the city, though not that afternoon. As she crossed the parking lot, Furia dug out her personal phone and pulled up the person she probably called the most.

"Mijito," she said joyfully when Mikey answered. "I need you to find a disposable car."

Finishing the call quickly she ducked into a store on the corner and bought a soda. When she came out she hopped onto one of the newspaper vending machines outside and waited. Mikey was there in less than half an hour--better service than most of the pizza joints in town. When he pulled to a stop in the intersection he got out and pulled his best Barker girl imitation gesturing to the car like it was a door prize.

Furia hopped off her perch and strolled toward the driver's side.

"Aww, I was hoping you'd let me drive," Mikey crooned as he passed by her.

"If you did, I would."

"Oh, ouch. My pancreas."

Furia shook her head. When an impatient driver honked at them they both turned and flipped him off. When the car door opened and a large angry-looking man stepped out, Mikey leveled is pistol at him.

"Your call, cabrón," Furia said, leaning against the hood just to be cantankerous. The impatient man slid slowly back into this car before she and Mikey did the same.

"I swear some people. No fucking patience," the young man opined as he slipped his gun back into his waistband.

"You did park in the intersection, mijo. And if you keep wearing that gun there, you're going to shoot your dick off," Furia chided as she steered them toward the church. "Then I'm going to have to listen to Peaches cry and Johnny cackle."

"No faith."

She gave him a dismissive wave accompanied with a quick exposition in Spanish, which left him chuckling as the music from the radio became the only noteworthy sound in the car. When they arrived at the church the pair of them jogged up the steps.

"It's a garage. So it's probably going to be cramped. But you know those little suburban kids and their fascination with automatic weapons," Furia noted. "And we can't kill the mechanic. We need him to run right into the arms of the knight in shining blue Voxel come to save him."

Mikey chuckled. "Doesn't matter, pistol will be the best option. Especially if you're trying not to hit this one guy. But with your aim."

Furia punched him in the shoulder hard enough to bounce him off the wall of the hallway. "Chingate, cabrón. I'll have you know I can at least hit the broad side of a barn now."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

When they neared the first door on the right her pace slowed. "Tell Johnny I need a shotgun, too."

"I thought we weren't going to kill him?"

"Not for him, it's for his friends."

Mikey shook his head at her as he ducked into Johnny's alcove while Furia continued on to the next door. She grabbed the doorjamb and peeked through the threshold. "Hey. No can do."

Before she could escape completely, Troy's voice halted her albeit reluctantly. "Wait up." He crossed the room quickly and leaned over her, forearm resting on the wall. "What's going on?"

"Nothing unexpected really. I've got this thing for Lin, and it's probably going to take all night."

"What the hell does she have you doing?"

"It's not the doing that will take all night." Furia ignored the little smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth. Thankfully, he didn't say whatever he was thinking or the thought that perked up in her head, though she was fairly certain both ideas lay along the same vein. "We have to wait Donnie's nerves out. She figures eventually he'll call this guy Price then we can follow them out. Figure out where he hangs his hat. All that good jazz."

"I'm guessing you're taking Mikey with you," he asked. His fingertips grazed her neck as he pushed her hair behind her shoulder.

Furia straightened a little. "Sip. Just figured I'd let you know rather than keep you in suspense."

"Thanks."

Troy's reply was quiet. He seemed a little disappointed, but, all told, so was she. His request had surprised her, pleasantly. His approach to her so far was something Furia was not used to at all. Most guys were incredibly forward with her and on top of that they usually presumed she would be interested. Troy had not taken that approach. It was one of the reasons she had really been hoping she might be free that night; a part of her really had hoped to find a way to make it happen. Of course there was also that bit of her that realized to get the consideration she wanted with the Saints she had to be at everyone's beck and call for a while longer.

She chewed at the inside of her lip a moment as she looked up at him. Then thought better of the idea running through her head and started to duck out of the doorway. He caught her arm with one hand and two fingers of the other lifted her chin enough to steal a quick peck before Mikey called her name down the hall. Furia stood there momentarily flustered as he strolled back across the room with an innate sense of calm. Her cohort tapped her shoulder with the butt of shotgun.

"We good?" Mikey asked.

Furia turned to him sharply, resisting the urge to look back toward the office. "Si. If we take our sweet time, we might just catch Donnie and all his pals with their hoods up and their pants down."

Mikey chuckled and shook his head. "Really not the visual I needed."

Her light laughter echoed back at her off the stone. "Well, too bad. I have a talent for that shit. C'mon." With that she clapped him on the shoulder and all but pushed him back up the corridor and out the courtyard door of the church.


	26. Illusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Furia and Mikey pay Donnie's shop an interesting visit which leads to a rather involved stakeout. After staying out all night, Furia's phone reminds her of the date and a pending family tradition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Chyrstis for beta-ing this piece. As usual immensely helpful.

**Before I See 26: Illusions**

**-1-**

“Oye!” Furia called as she marched up the sidewalk with purpose.

A trio in blue turned, two of them smiled at her as a third slid off the hood wide-eyed. He knew her; she had raced him at least twice. That third guy was also the only one to pay any mind to the man walking a handful of paces behind her, skirting the retaining wall that surrounded the front of the shop.

“Oh shit!” the short kid said. His exclamation drew his friends’ attention. Two shotgun blasts put down the two distracted men, while Mikey’s first shot missed.

After the second hit, causing the kid to trip over himself and land in an ugly twisted heap near a telephone pole, Furia glanced at Mikey. “Some marksman you are. Letting yourself get shown up by the worst shot in the gang.”

“You are not the _worst_ shot,” Mikey countered.

“Aww. Well aren’t you sweet.” Furia’s crooked smile and dark chuckle made him shake his head.

As it turned out, Lin’s suggestion about a few guys had been a gross underestimation. After handling the three guys leaning on the hood of a zippy little rice, Mikey and Furia found out just how popular Donnie’s shop was among the suburban crew as a hail of bullets ripped through the hood of the little import.

“Well, so damn much for a few guys checking out a car,” Furia grumbled, as the distinctive sound of a shotgun joined the rattling of shells from an SMG.

“I got it,” Mikey told her and moved around the rear of the car. “Get their attention.”

_At least he didn’t suggest I flash them,_ she thought as she fired a few rounds from her own shotgun before ducking again.

Three shots and everything went silent. That little display had evened things back up she noticed as she peeked over the hood.

“How was that, boss?” he said, not thinking about it.

Furia stiffened. He had called her that before. She knew it was merely a sign of respect, but it was one she did not think she had earned, thus she shied away from it. “Pretty good. And watch it with that. People will get the wrong idea.”

“I know. Sorry. Just slipped.” Mikey pushed his sunglasses on top of his head and rubbed his forehead for a moment.

“Come on. Need to find that skinny little tuner.”

When they started around the corner there were more Rollerz running out to greet them. Furia shook her head once and the pair in purple crossed the yard quickly. Mikey entered through the open bay door, while she took one located on the side. There were two cars on lifts and way too many places to take cover in the bay all of which seemed great for sucking up bullets, for good or ill.

Kicking in the door, Furia moved through it quickly. She was, however,  not expecting to get nabbed from behind, and realized her mistake too late when a heavy hand landed on her shoulder.

"Get the hell off me," Furia groaned as she threw an elbow back into the jaw of the man who was trying to manhandle her into a hold. With a pained grunt, he dropped to the ground and she turned the shotgun on him. "Didn't your mother tell you it's not polite to grab a lady."

"You're stretching the definition of that word aren't you?" Mikey chided as he crouched behind some sort of diagnostic station that was sparking a bit. He popped up and fired at a man peeking out from behind one of the massive red tool chests, hitting him in the shoulder and the neck.

"You must want me to shoot you, too."

“Well, I might be safe then. If you’d said you’d beat my ass, I _might_ have been worried.”

“Mijo--” she started when a shot impacted near her.

The kid just chuckled. "The only time I've seen you in anything other than jeans and boots was when you were picking up hookers downtown. And even then you only really only dressed like a girl."

Furia glared at him as she leaned against the wall and reloaded her shotgun. "You know I used to like you. And I’ll have you know I can pretend to be a lady with the best of them."

Again his laughter rumbled through the room, the sound interrupted by an echoing blast from her weapon. Just then she caught sight of a frantic wide-eyed gaping-mouthed face that looked vaguely familiar through the obvious fear. _¡Mierda!_ She had almost shot the guy they were trying not to kill.

"Come on. I think that's him," she called, immediately switching gears. As she ducked into the hall at a near sprint, Mikey gave chase.

"Holy shit! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" the little guy in blue coveralls yelled from the other end of the hallway as he dashed off.

"¡Maldita sea!" Furia waved at Mikey frantically, as she ducked into the hall at a near sprint. "He's fucking running."

"Watch yourself," Mikey called after her.

She stopped at the door to the office and peeked around the corner. Two guys in the room gave her enough pause that Donnie got out the door, with little more than a glance from the tall Latina. When Mikey rounded the corner, she released her grip on the guy who knocked her gun out of her hands and waved him toward the door Donnie exited through. "Out the back. Get him!"

Mikey knew the plan. He knew Furia did not want him to shoot the mechanic, just make it look good and maybe scare him more than a little. Judging from the high-pitched scream the thin man let out as he had bounced off the metal door when she had pursued him into the office, they had accomplished that task. So now all that really remained was herding Donnie into the relative safety of Lin’s arms.

Putting all the weight she could muster into the thrust of her elbow, a sickening crackling sound and the sudden limpness freed her from the grip of the blue banger. Her whirl of motion began anew, slowing only briefly as she grabbed her gun on her way out. Furia burst into the setting sunlight as Mikey took aim at Donnie again. Furia saw where the shots hit and caught the look on Lin's face. Then the gun came up, which prompted her to dive for the kid she had brought with her.

Once the purple-clad pair hit the ground near, but not quite behind, the metal bin, Furia wrapped her arms around his head and her own as the ringing of shells sang out. With the screeching of tires, she leaned up, peeking around their cover to see if it was clear. Then she noticed Mikey’s surprise. Her hands moved over his chest and shoulders quickly checking for any sign of injury. Satisfied he was okay she looked down at him, wearing a grumpy look. Then she smacked him on the side of the head.

“Ow!” Mikey cringed and covered his head with his hand.

"You shot her car. She's going to kill you," the Latina lectured, as leaned up.

"Preferable to be crushed to death by you," he groaned mockingly.

Her jaw dropped. She scrambled to her feet and offered him a firm punch to the ribs as she did.

He coughed once at her and spoke in strained voice as a result. "And she won't kill me."

"Yeah, right. I would. So it is likely that she will, or at least plan it out in great detail. You’re kidding yourself if you think she’s nicer than me," she said as she jogged towards their car which they had left running since it was _borrowed_ and hotwired.

Mikey followed her. And Furia could almost hear him thinking the question. "I thought we were letting them go?” he asked grabbing the drunk handle when she fishtailed the vehicle just a bit.

"Damn, bald tires,” she muttered before she glanced at him. “Eventually, but I got to make it look good.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Donnie wouldn’t believe a racer would just let anyone go, and I wouldn’t. But don't worry, mijito. I know what I'm doing.”  

The broad grin she wore as she upshifted and steered into the oncoming lanes likely did little to assure her passenger. His knee pressing into the dash made her chuckle. Furia weaved between cars coming at them, honking madly.

"Are you trying to cause an accident?"

Furia shrugged one shoulder at him, before veering back into the correct lane. "And if I was?"

"You know for a while there I was thinking you might be the sanest one in the bunch," Mikey said, his nerves trembling his voice just a little.

"I probably am," she replied, making the turn late on purpose and holding the slide just that much too long so that the rear quarter panel of the Cosmos bounced against the support column of the elevated train tracks.

"Riding with you could give a man whiplash."

"Oh, don’t be a baby. I didn't hit it that hard. It's barely even dented," she said, leaning out her window and grimacing. "Ok, maybe it's a little worse than I thought."

"Uh-huh." The look he gave her could best be described as incredulous.

Furia smacked him on the leg. "Let's take a walk. Do a little window shopping."

Within an hour and a half the pair of them had _requisitioned_ another vehicle _with extreme prejudice_ and made their way to Lin's neighborhood. After abandoning their second stolen vehicle of the day a few blocks around the corner from the building the Saints’ lieutenant was calling home for now, the pair walked down the darkening street trying not to draw any notice. Mikey pulled his cap down lower and Furia pulled the hood of her coat up in an effort to try and obscure their faces. The last thing she needed in the next three blocks was to be recognized and have someone call Donnie or Lin.

They jogged up the alley toward the navy blue Churchill that looked like it had seen better days. Furia chuckled when she saw her brother asleep in the front seat. She beat on the roof of the car, scaring the hell out of him. As she yanked open the front door, he made a sound that suggested he nearly choked on his tongue when he shot upright.

"¿Hermanito, que tal?" Furia said too loudly as she slammed the car door behind her.

"You know you're pure evil, right?" Memo said tiredly while he rubbed a hand over his eyes and yawned.

"¡Claro que sí[i]!" Furia chimed brightly as she propped her feet on dashboard. The tail of the blue and white Voxel was just barely visible from their spot in the alleyway. “Anything?”

“Nope. They’ve been up there maybe forty minutes. The guy was all jumpy.”

“That’s because she took a shot at him,” Mikey said.

“I did not,” she argued, turning slightly toward the back seat wearing a wide-eyed look of disbelief. “He was in the same room and I was aiming for that other guy.”

“My point exactly.”

“Chingate, carnal. Both of you.” Her addition came when she saw Memo grinning like a fool. “I could still beat both of you blind,” Furia grumbled at them, shaking her head.

“Him, maybe,” Memo noted.

“Hey!” Mikey’s disagreement lessened with his laughter.

“Man, we both know she would take you. But I think her ego’s outstripping her skill.”

Furia draped her arm over the back of the seat. “You think so, baby brother? We could find out. Make a show of it even,” she challenged. Her tone darkened as she cocked an eyebrow at Memo. She knew he would back down. As much as he might like the answer, Memo was not willing to go after it--he did not want to damage either of their egos or reputations. Though Furia was nearly certain it was his ego he was most worried about.

“Always making a scene,” Guillermo chided with a shake of his head.

The look he gave her confirmed what she was thinking. Furia grinned and clapped his cheek lightly a few times, pulling him toward her and kissing him on the forehead. “Any chance I could talk you into making a dinner run, hermano?"

Memo tipped his head to the side, eyeing her skeptically as she returned to her side of the car. "Only because I like Mikey more than you."

Furia flipped him off.

"Love you, too." Memo leaned on the seat and glanced back at the guy. "So what do you dorks want?"

Furia cocked her eyebrow at her brother, who smirked at her as Mikey ignored the moniker entirely. Mikey rattled off his order and changed it twice, while Furia's phone trembled against her hip. She tugged it out and checked the messages on her phone, waiting for her friend to make his decision. Peaches sent her a quick and simple toothless threat about keeping her man out all night long. She also noticed the overlooked message from her brother telling her he found her something nice and comfy for her campout.

After Memo left, she stretched out across the front seat, leaning her back against the driver’s door. "Your girl's peeved at me."

"That's because she thinks I volunteered to come with," Mikey said with a laugh.

"You did. What are you skipping out on?"

His grin widened and he tipped his head to the side, looking over at her. "Damn Jane Austen movie or some shit."

"Oh," Furia crooned knowingly. "Period romance movies. I understand now. I might just volunteer to sit in a car all night long too."

He leaned back in the seat chuckling. "How long you think we are going to be here?"

"If we are lucky, she won't let him stay the night."

"You think she's got something going with the guy?"

Furia looked at him carefully.

"He yelled her name and seemed powerfully glad to see her pull up," Mikey explained.

"Nah."

Furia glanced up at the windows of the building down the alley. Muted yellow and orange squares in a darkening red brick façade. Anonymous blocks of light, suggestive of life--hearth and home. And one of them housed a very dangerous charade. She really hoped Donnie wouldn't wait too long to make his call.

 

**-2-**

"Catch," Lin called across the room before she threw the beer at him.

Donnie caught it and leaned next to the window, while Lin fell into a very old armchair. Her boots banged the cheap pressed wood table as she leaned back and sank deeply into the worn out piece of furniture that had come with the rat-trap apartment. Lin checked her watch again. She honestly had not expected him to _want_ to hide out in her place, and even after several uneventful hours of piss poor TV and moderately passable pizza.

"I lost them," Lin said for about the dozenth time. "And I circled around for a good twenty minutes to make sure of it. Relax, man." Lin snuggled down against the secondhand quilt she had nabbed to cover the fraying fabric of the chair and tried to camouflage a sizable yawn with the back of her hand.

"They busted up my shop, shot like ten guys. That chick looked dead at me and said, 'There he goes.'" They had been through all this shortly after they got here and at least one other time. Lin was not sure what he was looking for from another rehash of this topic. Finally, Donnie sighed and fell onto her old sofa that groaned under the sudden weight. "What the hell were they doing there?"

The question perked her ears up. He had not gone there in the previous incarnations. Instead he had shifted into rants. Lin tilted her head slightly and watched him more carefully now. "Maybe they just wanted to strip some gear from the shop?"

"Maybe. But I don't think so," he said quietly, sipping at the beer in his hands.

Trying to deduce what might be going through his head, Lin looked for just the right response. She really needed him to think what she wanted him to think.

"It was the girl you beat the other night. The one they call Morada? Maybe she saw us together and thought…?" Donnie stopped short of suggesting a definition.

"Racers don't go after people off the strip."

"She charged you."

Lin shook her head and took a long pull on her beer. "That was bravado. I called her out. Pushed her buttons. She couldn't let that slide. Even so, that's between me and her. It has nothing to do with you."

"You're sure she didn't go to the shop because of what happened at the race?"

Lin switched spots, setting her beer on the table as she curled onto the sofa, sitting next to him. She draped her arm over the back of the sofa, her hand grazing his shoulder. "Donnie you know how racers are. We're all about our cars. That's what we focus on; that's how we handle our disagreements," she said in a calm and soothing tone.

"Why would the Saints want to hit my shop?"

Lin laughed and he looked at her sharply. She grabbed his pocket, shaking the fabric. "You're wearing blue. That's really all it takes--” she nearly bit her tongue as she repeated the phrase she had heard so many Rollerz use “--for upstarts like them. They are just looking to make a mark. When you got nothing, you go after the ones who do."

The words burned in her throat and turned her stomach tightly. But that was the overarching opinion held by the Rollerz. Anyone who came at them was nothing and just wanted what they had. She took a long slow breath, hoping he would not need her to console him any further.

He shook his head as he shifted toward her slightly. "I don't know."

Lin tried not to groan and shifted directions as she scooted a little closer. "Your shop is a source of income for the Rollerz. It's also a safe spot for th--us. Your place was bound to get hit sooner or later. From what I hear, the Saints have been moving hard against us all over town lately."

"Maybe you’re right. They did take apart the storage yard in Pleasant View and from what I hear they've been trying to woo Wong and move in on Chinatown," Donnie explained too easily. Lin knew about it all already, from Furia and Johnny as well as a few rumors in the Westside crews, but Donnie should not be telling her such things.

"I heard some of the guys talking about the storage yard. Did they really destroy _all_ the cars?"

Donnie looked absolutely forlorn. Of course, she knew that several of the cars stored there were pieces he had worked on. One of them was damn near a work of mechanical art; the destruction of that car even made her heart ache a bit thinking about it. "Every damn one. They weren't just wrecked or messed up. Those crazy fuckers blew them up. I mean they were in pieces." He smoothed a hand through his hair. "She's going to burn down my shop, isn't she? Crazy bitch,” he muttered the last, shaking his head at the ceiling

"Not necessarily."

Donnie still shook his head as he leaned forward and set his beer on the table before scrubbing his hands over his face slowly. When he sat back, he looked tired but not the least bit relaxed. "Look, I forgot to say it earlier, but thanks. If you hadn't showed up when you did … I don't know."

"Guess we should be glad that girl made me work for it the other night. Otherwise I wouldn't have wanted to run a diagnostic on my engine. I thought I heard her get lean at me on a few of those turns in that weaving section."

He looked up at her and laughed lightly. "Never been happier to find out someone was obsessed with their car."

"Thanks," she replied. "I think."

"Oh, believe me. I meant it as a compliment," he said, trying for a recovery. "I owe you big time."

"Nah," Lin replied, shaking her hand. "You don't owe me. I'm just glad I got there before they got to you."

Donnie's movement took her by surprise. It was quick and startling. Her hand went to his chest as his lips met hers. Lin's pressure against him eased when his fingertips grazed her cheek. After a few beats, her hand tightened in the thick fabric of his coveralls and she kissed him back. Pulling him toward her, it deepened.

The startlingly exuberant electronic buzzing pulled them apart and they both stared at each other in surprise for a moment before he fumbled through his pockets for the phone. A vibrant blush crept over his cheeks and reached his ears. When he answered it, he looked away then stood up. Lin’s brain was running so fast and so hard that she thought she could hear it revving sharply.

"Yeah I'm fine. Has anyone been by the shop yet? Oh, that's just great! Guess it could be worse," he said with a sense of relief. "Yeah I can get there. That would be great. Thanks. See you shortly."

 

**-3-**

Mikey stretched his neck and noticed the light in Lin's window go off. Leaning up he nudged Furia who had her chin pressed to her chest trying to get a little sleep, though she responded too quickly to have been out yet.

"Heads up. Lights went off."

She straightened quickly and glanced up the dark alley. Shortly thereafter he noticed the taillights on the Voxel brighten. The Churchill rumbled low and crept down the drive to where the blue racer had sat moments earlier. Mikey climbed over the back of the bench seat and fell into the passenger side as the blacked out sedan moved carefully between the buildings.

"Don't lose them. And try not to be too obvious," Mikey muttered. When he looked over at Furia, he caught the tail end of a glare.

"This is what I do, carnal?"

"Sorry. Nerves."

"Why are you nervous? You just get to sit there, look cute, and hope we get done with this before Peaches gets pissed enough to make you sleep in the stairwell … _again_ ," Furia said with a trace of laughter in her voice.

Mikey shook his head at her, his lips thinning into a disapproving line. Then he shrugged returning to his concerns. "I don't know. It's just strange, don’t you think?"

"Si."

"Playing both sides. I mean, one little stumble and …" He shook his head. "I don't even want to think about it. Because I can just imagine how Johnny or any of the others might react to something like that. I wouldn't put it past the Rollerz to take a similarly violent approach."

"I know, Mikey. But Lin's careful." There was a short pause before she continued. "Hell, the other night she and I went at it. Almost actually came to blows when she shoved me. To be honest, I think she wanted me to hit her. It just got broken up before either of us could throw a punch."

"Damn, really?"

Furia nodded. "Don't worry about Lin. She's selling it hard."

During the drive, there were one or two times he thought the Voxel had lost them, but Furia somehow managed to find them again. _Or maybe it was only you that lost sight of them_ , he thought as he leaned back against the seat after his most recent twinge of anxiety. The woman behind the wheel was just completely relaxed. _Hell, she looks like we're just fucking cruising._ The realization of which made him slouch a little trying to steal some of that calm the driver exuded.

Mikey watched the blue car pull into the upscale suburban neighborhood.

"Where the fuck are we going?"

"Who knows?" Furia replied coolly. "We'll get there when they get there."

Mikey's answer came sooner than he expected. Tension crept back into his shoulders, when the big sedan closed in on the slowing Voxel. They watched Lin and Donnie enter a large mansion.

"Got your little goodie bag?" Furia asked as she opened the door.

"Yeah, but …," he looked out across the expanse of open lawn. _We'll be sitting ducks if this guy has a lick of sense. Good money says there are motion lights out there_ , Mikey thought, his natural instincts heightening. This was not a house he would want to break into, given the choice, though he knew that was not why they were there.

"Just be glad it's still dark. Come on."

He could not help but be surprised when they crossed the grass and nothing happened. “This guy’s an idiot,” he muttered to himself.

“What?”

“Easiest deterrent in the book.” Mikey gestured to the overhang that was pitifully devoid of lights. “Exterior lighting on motion sensors. Keep about 70% of thieves away from your house,” he muttered, sounding almost disappointed.

Furia shrugged. “Or he thinks everyone and their brother gives a fuck who he is and wouldn’t dream of robbing him. Probably the same reason no one breaks into Gat’s little hell hole apartment.”

“Maybe,” he said as he dug through the bag.

“Do you have that thing?”

“It’s in here somewhere.”

Furia glared at him and gestured for him to hurry up. “It would be nice to find out what the hell they are talking about, mijo. Before it’s over.”

“Ah, ha,” he said triumphantly and loud enough for her to smack him on the back of the head again.

Furia muttered at him in Spanish for a moment. “Fix it so we can hear,” she grumbled before the foreign mumbling started again.

Powerfully glad they caught the tail end of the conversation, Mikey started to remove the little microphone device after Donnie and Lin left, but Furia insisted he not. Donnie and Lin pulled out, driving right past the Churchill with not a stitch of interest. The pair of Saints leaned outside the window, listening to the sound of … _Was this guy peeing??_ Mikey hazarded a glance over his shoulder and saw the older guy wander past the window with a sparkly glass filled with a brownish liquid, which made him shake his head at himself.

The two remaining men talked about Donnie. The tenor of their conversation surprised Mikey. From the look on Furia’s face she had not been expecting that turn of events either. When the younger man left, they waited a few more minutes then bailed as well.

“You drive,” she called, tossing him the keys. “I need to make some calls.”

Mikey stopped cold when he caught the keys. It still surprised him when she let him drive, unless they were using his Ant. She usually let him drive his own car, but letting him take the wheel otherwise typically frustrated her until she made him pull over so she could take retake control.

When he slid into the driver’s seat she already had the phone to her ear. Furia’s hand beat his to the radio dial, turning the music down after he started the car.

“Ah, chico, que pasa? Si. Bueno. I need a favor. Si. It needs to be completely quiet. You wouldn’t know anything about some shipments coming in? High end car parts? Racing manifolds, exhausts, and the like? Very prime stuff from what I hear.” Furia laughed warmly. “No. I’d never do anything like that. You wound me, cabrón.”

Furia shook her head, the chuckle still hanging in the air as they reached the main drag headed toward the freeway.

“Fine. I’ll level with you. I got a tip that someone is looking at that shipment. That someone and I don’t get on to well. So I’d like to make sure they don’t have the chance to get their hands on their new toys.”

She paused. With a glance at her watch she started pointing toward the left turn lane at the light prior to the freeway entrance. When Mikey looked at her curiously, Furia’s lips pursed and she gestured more animatedly. Rather than argue, he took the unspoken direction.

“I guess you could call it that. No. I’m not boosting the parts. If I was, I wouldn’t be calling you. I’ve got another guy for that but his turnaround is longer. However, I figured since I’m trying to keep someone from ripping you guys off, I thought you might throw me a bone here. Man, I don’t have a car that could use your parts. You know me. I’m a sucker for American heavy metal. I don’t do clown cars.”

Mikey watched her shake her head. He only saw the roll of the eyes because they were stopped under a street lamp. He snickered and tried to bury it in his sleeve so the man on the other end of the line did not hear. When she sat up there was a note of frenzy to her movements as she searched futilely for something, and yanked up her sleeve while uncapping the marker from her pocket with her teeth.

“Si. Si, I’m ready. Digame.” Mikey watched her scribble notes down her forearm in what looked like black permanent marker. “Gracias, Jesús. Si. Si!”

She hung up the phone and stuffed it in her pocket. “Dios,” she breathed, dragging out the word.”You’d think I was asking for directions to his mother’s house to deliver a crate of experimental sex toys.”

Mikey eyed her for a moment. “Is that the shipment?”

“ _Shipments_. There are three. Apparently the guys have been having parts go missing so they have taken to shipping certain types of products in multiple loads so as to prevent total loss.”

Mikey tried not to grin too widely. He knew damn well who was to blame for that particular maneuver.

Furia just smirked at him. “What?”

The pair broke out into laughter as she pointed out the next turn. Furia acted like a live action GPS system and detoured him to the Apollo's on the way into downtown. That was one good thing about Stilwater--all the fast food joints were open 24/7 for the most part. Though there were a few in the high end districts that had the nerve to close their doors before 2 am.

“It’s almost 5 am, breakfast is entirely appropriate,” she teased.

Mikey couldn’t help but agree. He ordered two coffees and detailed an order for an entire box of donuts while Furia considered her order, which after more consideration than he thought the decision required, came down to regular coffee and two glazed donuts. He just nodded and pulled around to the window.

 

**-4-**

Furia decided at the restaurant to not go through with the idea that prompted the detour, but that did not keep her from playing it through her mind at least a few more times on the way back to the Southside, where she and Mikey both lived. She insisted that they take him home first, since there was someone waiting for him, be that good or bad. At least she sent him into the fray armed with caffeine and sweets, hopefully, it might not go too badly for him.

As she cruised through Mission Beach, the idea of a pre-dawn invasion ran through her head again. Troy had offered, actually asked to see her the night before. At the church he even suggested that she drop him a line if they got done early enough. _By some considerations, 5 am is early, right?_ She shook away the thought after a long moment of consideration.

Even if she wandered back across town for caffeine and sugar to bribe him with, it did not make the idea any less silly. Or at least that's what Furia told herself as she pulled the car into a secluded spot behind an abandoned warehouse. She wiped down the interior once more just in case, even though she and Mikey had kept their gloves on since before the shoot out at the garage. Satisfied that she had done a thorough enough job, Furia abandoned the car in a spot where it would be stripped like a carcass in the desert before noon and started her trek the dozen or so blocks home.

Once on foot it was easier to let the idea slide, but the sudden vibration in her pocket made her grumble. Whoever thought it was a good idea to call her before dawn was going to regret that choice, even if she had been up all night. But the ring was not from a call. It was a notification, one she had set.

"Mierda," she mumbled at the phone realizing the date. _I can't believe I forgot._ Her pace quickened. Maybe the cup of coffee and a hot shower would result in some partial human state that might get her through the rest of the day on no sleep. _If she was lucky_ , she thought.

By 7am, Furia had showered, downed two cups of coffee, and procured Memo’s Cavallaro, which she parked up the block from a bus stop in the Barrio as she waited. Her outfit did not blatantly state her affiliation, but if one looked closely they would notice the amethyst drop earrings and purple Mary Jane style heels. Beyond that the black pencil skirt and white sweater did not even whisper Saint, nor did the black trench coat.

It was something she had just become accustomed to. White and black were really the only safe colors in the neighborhood she grew up in. Even growing up in Carnales territory wearing red could be a problem. So she pared her wardrobe back to the only truly safe colors, but truthfully, even those really did not keep a person out of trouble.

Furia dug her phone out and checked the time. _Gabriel should have been out here already,_ she thought as the bus that would have gotten him to school on time passed the car she leaned against. _He better not be playing hookey without me._ Her youngest brother had not been among the passengers, which made her wonder if he was skipping or if he was catching the bus at an earlier or later stop. Furia was about to text Memo, when she saw her Gabe round the corner at a run. His hands dropped as he stopped--a look of defeat on his face. That’s when his smile bloomed.

“Tati?” he called.

Furia grinned back at him as he burst into a run. “Hermanito. Feliz Cumpleaños,” she said into his hair as she hugged him tightly.

Gabe squeezed her a little tighter. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

“Have I ever missed your birthday?” She held his face in both her hands and held his gaze.

“No. But--”

Furia pressed a kiss to his forehead. “So? You figured for year fourteen I’d start a new messed up trend of forgetting what's important?”

“You’ve been so busy. I just thought,” he said shyly, looking away.

“It would never happen, mijito. You know that, don't you?” When he nodded, Furia pulled him into another tight hug. After a minute or two, she loosed her hold on him, and laid one arm over his shoulder. “Is there something specific you want to do today? It is your day after all.”

Gabe’s smile widened. “There’s that computer history exhibit at the museum.”

Ruffling his hair, Furia opened the door of the car. “You are the weirdest kid ever.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Whose birthday is it?”

“YES!” Gabe cheered triumphantly, pumping his fist. “Breakfast first? At that place with the pecan waffles?”

"Whatever you want, mijo." Furia nodded.

With that her baby brother dropped into the passenger seat, flinging his book bag over it while wearing a massive grin. Furia had done her research; she knew what the day would likely entail before she picked him up. Last year it had been five hours in the arcade, so his request for the museum really was not a shock. She was also fairly certain where they would end up for dinner--the theater in the suburbs that did fancy meals with a blockbuster movie in the most ridiculously comfortable chairs known to man--she had made reservations a month ago to make sure they would not be turned away.

But there was one stop that would be a surprise for her brother. Gabriel had been more enthralled by the exhibits than Furia had anticipated. So much so, she actually had to drag him out of the museum at half after three to make it to that very important destination.

"What are we doing here?" he asked, his brow furrowed as Furia pulled open the door with the non-descript white lettering that said WSW across the top pane of blackened glass.

"What do you think we're doing here?"

Gabe's eyes went wide and he froze in place, looking from the row of monitors with brightly colored display images back over his shoulder at his sister. "No." His voice was low, calm, disbelieving. "No way!" It got a little louder with a trace of wildness. Then the frenzy hit. "You can't be serious," he chirped, turning and grabbing her jacket by the lapel.

"So you think I brought you here to tease you?"

"Well, … no. But you said--"

"That I'd see what I could do," Furia told him. _You'd be surprised just what you can do with some high end electronics that fall off a Carnales truck._ "Come on. They're going to close soon. And I'm guessing you would rather not wait for another day."

"Ya think?"

Furia set her hand on the back of his neck and pushed him toward the little round service desk set up in the middle of the little custom computer shop. Gabriel had been asking for a computer since he was eight. Two years ago for Christmas Furia found an old secondhand system that had served him for school since, but even then she knew it was barely adequate.

This time she made other plans. One Sunday afternoon she got him to draw up his dream computer. Furia might not have known what most of the things on that list were or how they might go together, but that mattered little. The owner of WSW was a nice enough guy and he had been very interested when Furia and Mikey showed up with some choice chips and boards and other things she couldn't really define that well. It meant he had a source and she had an in.

"Furia," the tall thin man behind the counter greeted cheerfully.

"Hey there, Dickie."

"I know what you're here for." He tapped one of the other guys in a purple polo on the shoulder and muttered something to him. "I've got all the cables in there. High end keyboard and mouse. Got you totally covered. This the kid with the list?"

"Si, this is Gabe. Dickie here made sense of it for me."

"I think you're going to like this rig. Your sister said to pull out the stops."

Gabe smiled widely looking from one to the other. Then stared intently at the clipboard the guy pulled out that had the specs and parts list. Her younger brother was held completely rapt by the description. Furia was just glad he seemed to like it. She had been quite worried about the possibility that he would be disappointed. But between the smiles and the pensive nods, she was pretty sure she had managed to hit the nail on the head.

They were still talking when the other man returned with massive boxes on a cart. Furia left Gabe in the shop while she escorted the young man outside. Gabe and Dickie came out while the boxes were being loaded.

“Umph,” she muttered, when her brother all but tackled her into a hug. “I take it you like it.”

“It’s … But how … You …”

Gabe ran through a dozen questions none of them he wanted to ask, nor did she want to hear them or answer them. Because she knew she would skirt the truth. Maybe Gabe knew it too. There was no way she would come out and admit that she had pulled a load of electronics off a truck and traded them for his birthday present. She would not announce to him that the money she shelled out that day came as a result of boosting or driving for call girls or making deliveries for some questionable individuals.

“Happy Birthday!” she said as the weight settled again in her shoulders and she pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Get in the car.”

Once Gabe was out of earshot she turned her back to the car, wearing a serious look and speaking with a professional tone. “We square?”

“Sure thing. Any chance you’re still--” he looked up at the darkening sky trying to find the right word “--working in that industry?”

“If you’re asking what I think you’re asking, I can make you my first stop when I … happen across things of that nature.”

Dickie nodded. “I’d appreciate that. Hope the kid enjoys it.”

Furia shook the hand the man thrust toward her. “I’m sure he will. Listen. Do me a solid. If he ever comes in for anything, just put it on a tab for me, okay?”

“For sure.” His long thin fingers tugged at the purple fabric of his polo. “Is there a chance that if I know of something coming in that you might be able to …”

The Saint glanced over her shoulder Gabe was leaning out the car window talking to the other clerk. “You’ve got my number. If I’ve got the time and the manpower, I’ll aim for it. But the percentage is higher for … special orders,” she said darkly, tipping her head and looking up at him. Her nerves were tightening. This was not a conversation she wanted to have with her brother less than thirty feet away.

“Understood.” He pulled out a pad of paper.

Furia held up her hand. Her voice became menacing. “Not in front of the kid please. Text it to me later. And if you ever mention a word of this to him. You and I will have a problem.” Dickie’s eyes widened, which was precisely the effect she was aiming for. “I like you Dickie. I’d rather us remain friends.”

“M-me too.”

“Good. Then we understand one another?”

“Yes.”

“Bueno. And you’ll pass that little message on to any of your staff that knows about our arrangement, si?”

“Yes. Si.”

“Good man,” Furia said. She took his hand again and shook it firmly, smacking his shoulder. “Thanks again.”

Dickie stared at her; he was still staring when she slid into the driver’s seat. Thankfully Gabe was so enthralled talking about … well, she heard the phrase _graphics rendering_ so she assumed it had something to do with the monitor or something like that. Maybe. The clerk ended their conversation with a kind wave and a farewell, leaving the siblings free to go.

When she pulled out of the space Gabe put his hand on her arm. “Tati.” The look on his face showed that the questions still milled in his mind. “Thank you,” he said finally, perhaps deciding that they were not necessary, or perhaps the questions were just too hard, which was her opinion on the matter.

“You’re welcome, mijo.” Furia decided to leave out the fact she was glad she found a way to pull it off. That could prompt an inquiry neither of them wanted. “You want dinner, or would you prefer to go home and set this up?”

“Umm… both,” he replied with a grin that barely contained his excitement.

“I was hoping you’d say that. I made reservations.” He furrowed his brow at her. “Dinner and a show. I think they’re showing that new alien action flick. Have you seen it yet?”

“No! But it’s supposed to be amazing. Milo was talking about last weekend when we were--” When he stopped she looked over at him.

“When you were what?”

“I spent the night over there. He has this awesome setup. And his dad just bought him a laptop that is out of this world.”

Furia felt the unvoiced groan in her chest sensing that would likely be the next request she received from her brother.

“This is going to be so cool. We’ll be able to play games together all the time now,” he said.

“Grades drop and it’s mine,” she cautioned succinctly as she turned onto the freeway. Gabe gave her a shocked expression. “I’m serious. I want you to enjoy it. But if I hear about you not helping out at tio’s, not doing your chores, or your grades falling. It’s gone. Entiende?”

“Si. I got it.”

Ruffling his hair, Furia smiled at him. “Good. Because I’d rather not have to do that.”

“You won’t,” he promised.

“So tell me about this Milo kid. Is he the one from that computer class you took last summer?”

“Yeah,” Gabe started, falling into a quick talking discussion of what made Milo so cool.

While Furia did not understand all of it, at least it seemed like her brother had someone with whom his interests aligned. That had always been a problem for Gabriel. His brothers were all into sports and music, he was into space and aliens and science experiments. He was seven when he blew up Tio Antonio’s shed, the first time, and that’s because at six he had set the kitchen table on fire with another experiment and was relegated to said shed.

The kid was different. Even among the people most connected to him. The little Furia could do was listen, really, which was what she always did, even when she had a better grasp on the topics. They reached the theater with near perfect timing--twenty minutes before the show started, which got them to their table and their orders placed before the lights went down. After dinner, she spent a while handing him cords and cables and helping Gabe get everything plugged in. Then hung around for a few hours as he showed her all the things he would be able to do other than play solitaire.

Her uncle, thankfully, kept his mouth shut this go around, though, as usual, the look Antonio gave her spoke volumes. She walked back to Memo’s car under his intense scrutiny. His glare felt like it was burning into the back of her neck. He knew as well as she did how she managed to fulfill that birthday wish. Of course, he also knew that to bring it up would mean her throwing it right back in his face--his shop might be on the up and up now. But her cousin Miguel learned how to chop cars from his father and Antonio did not want that stitch in the fabric of his life brought up anymore than she wanted her own time in the shadowy places exposed to her own siblings.

When she reached the car she turned her phone back on; she had turned it off after the first text from Johnny came through during breakfast. She had told him she was taking a day--family emergency, she had texted--then turned it off completely.

Glancing back at the house as the device powered up, she noticed Antonio still standing there, obviously waiting for her to leave. It was the first time in her life she remembered feeling unwelcome at the house that had welcomed her after her grandparents' deaths. Her jaw tightened as she stared at that formidable backlit form, arms crossed tight over his chest in a powerful protective stance she had seen a number of times. It felt like he was defending against her now.

A strange desperation flooded her, burning like wildfire and making her skin feel too tight. Fumbling with the keys she started the car, as an overwhelming need to be anywhere else thudded against her skull.

 

[i] Of Course


	27. Moxy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday nights are usually a time to relax. But not tonight Johnny's got more than a good time on his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Chyrstis and Kakumei, who were kind enough to beta this piece for me. I appreciate all your hard work and assistance, as always. And I appreciate the patience of readers in waiting for updates.

**Moxy**

**-1-**

A small sign hung in a blacked out window near a nondescript black door; the neon word, more pink than purple, spelled out: _Tickle_. Despite that, the cozy club nestled just on the edge of Mission Beach catered to the Saints. The bookies, pimps, and call girls, who based their operations there, all paid tribute to Julius and his crew. Most nights the place played host to a smattering of purple, but on the weekends, specifically Friday nights, every soul in the place was either Saint or staff.

The deejay, who usually played a little bit of everything, seemed to be focusing mainly on R&B that night, or so the thick bass that burst through the open door suggested. As a group of about half a dozen entered the nightclub with them, Memo and Troy both traded nods with the bouncer at the entrance. He was one of Bradshaw's crew--there to make sure that only true Saints got through the door. There were strokes of purple everywhere but a pair of purple cowboy boots caught Troy's attention in particular. They were kicked up on the side of a table, drawing attention to the long legs sprouting out of them.

Bradshaw could not help but think that Furia’s tiny denim shorts should be illegal. The white button down tied just above that tempting curve of her rib cage definitely deserved some kind of ordinance as well. Furia leaned back, away from the direction her arms were being pulled, but finally she gave up the fight and let herself be yanked from the chair.

_Fuck all_. She looked tempting enough sitting down, but as she stood Troy consciously had to clench his jaw to keep it from dropping. Even once they got her to her feet, Furia shook her head and her hands at her friends, trying to convince them to let her bow out.

"Damn, cuz. Those legs go all the way up don't they?" Paulie opined, craning his neck to watch the trio of ladies, namely the leggy Latina.

Memo wrapped his big hand around the back of Paulie's neck and judging by the sudden wince on the smaller man's face Memo squeezed tightly. "That's my sister, entiendes?"

"Yeah. Shit. Yeah, man, I got it," Paulie, replied trying to shrug the big guy off.

"Pendejo," Memo grumbled when he let Paulie go with a little shove. "Do these idiots really think I wouldn't beat them a dozen shades of purple for even _thinking_ about laying a finger on her?"

Troy just nodded wordlessly, imagining that very reaction for a moment. "I'm sure you would," he said with a surprising amount of certainty as they waded through the crowd. Bradshaw was as guilty as half the guys in the room who were all watching the small group of women in purple moving toward the dance floor.

She did have amazing legs, Troy agreed as he found himself just as wrapped up in the sight as the others. Until that moment the fact that he had never seen her in anything except jeans or long pants never really even crossed his mind. Memo headed off in the same direction Paulie escaped toward. Meanwhile Troy tried to ignore the trio strutting across the room--there was no other word for it--long sharp steps punctuated by snapping hips. He shook his head and looked around for a moment, finding Dex and Julius at a table with two empty chairs. That was one thing he could count on. Even if none of them showed up, the Saints' leadership always had a table with four empty chairs reserved in case one or all of them materialized.

Bradshaw slid into a chair next to Julius. The waitress leaned between the boss and Dex, glancing at the newcomer expectantly. "Just a beer, please."

"Where were you guys?" Dex asked, watching the woman leave with great interest.

"Making sure no Rollerz jumped on that last shipment. Those guys were pushing hard too," Bradshaw noted, looking over at Julius.

"I'm not surprised," Julius said. He nodded in Furia's direction. "She said it was some pretty unique, high-end stuff they were looking for."

Troy grabbed a few unshelled peanuts from the center of the small table. He cracked them wordlessly as he braved a peek in her direction. "I didn't get the rundown of what exactly those boys were looking for, but, if the shop broke it into three shipments to keep it from getting picked up, it must have been worth the trouble."

The boss nodded, turning his attention back to his second. "So it all played out to spec?" Julius asked quietly.

Troy nodded. "Her info was right on point. Found the truck right where she said and the Westside boys popped out right where Furia thought they would." He shrugged nonchalantly. With a spot on plan and every detail locked down, Furia made his and Memo's work easy as pie. Bradshaw's crew just had to be in the right spot at the right time and it all went off without a hitch. He had actually been surprised by how smooth it played out. Of course, he also knew it was thanks to the legwork she and Mikey put into it- surveying the routes beforehand to pick out the most likely places for the ambush to happen. Their guesses had been dead on. "Things got a little hairy at one point, but that was because traffic got all backed up due to some fools in costumes beating on each other with foam swords in the intersection."

Julius chuckled at the image and shook his head slowly. "Any word from Lin on their reaction?"

"Not yet. I'm sure we'll hear something soon."

"Hopefully before they find a way around our little roadblock," Dex interjected.

"We don't want to hit them a second time on this," Bradshaw noted.

"He's right," Little agreed before Dex could argue the point. "We hit them twice on the same gig and they will know it wasn't happenstance or an accident. Hell, as it is we’re running a risk not hitting those shipments ourselves."

"Too much heat," Troy muttered.

"Those parts were probably worth a bundle," Dex offered.

"True, but we don't have a fence that can move that shit right now. So someone would have been left holding the bag. The Rollerz would drop a dime on us, and whoever had those parts was going to earn a bid for trafficking in stolen goods, hijacking, and anything else the cops could think to throw our way."

"Better just to keep our hands clean and their pockets empty, at least in this case," the boss said with a nod.

After dropping the shells on a napkin on the table, Troy leaned back with his prizes and glanced at the floor in time to catch Furia's eye for a moment before her head turned toward the small Asian woman beside her. The whole pack shifted their hips hypnotically; some of the women even mimicked the other movements of those around them. He found his attention repeatedly returning to the long wavy black hair hanging low and loose down her back just above her hips. Crunching on a few peanuts, Troy realized his subconscious must be fucking with him. He managed to choose the seat from which he would be able to see the table she left, as well as the spot where she and her friends were gathered. It caused his shoulders to tense up just a touch.

"Looking good, ladies!" The yell from the direction of the entrance managed to outstrip the music, though the replying whistles and laughter did not quite meet the level of Aisha's catcall and punctuating whistle.

The new addition shimmied across the space and melted into the sea of purple-clad writhing bodies and the dancing fell into sync again. Thankfully Johnny's arrival created enough of a distraction that Troy could divide his attention much more appropriately.

“Word is the Rollerz are crying in their coolant,” Gat chided as he fell into the chair next to Bradshaw.

Troy chuckled quietly. “Yeah. Imagine so.”

Johnny nodded a few times then glanced in his girlfriend’s direction before finally looking at Troy again, waving his hand slightly to convince Bradshaw to close the distance between them. “You know her, right?” he asked with a tip of his head.

“Who?”

“Furia.”

Troy swallowed sharply. This distraction looked like it would be much more short-lived than he had hoped. “As much as anyone else.”

“Well, she had a hand in this thing today.” He gestured between them. “And you’ve been helping her to shoot. I figured--”

“Figured what?” Troy was not sure where Johnny was going with this. So he tried to keep the tightness out of his voice as his eyes darted toward the dance floor.

Johnny rubbed at the back of his neck then leaned a little closer to him. “Look. I need to know if I can use her for job. I need to know if she can handle it.”

With a nod, Troy shook his head. Thankfully, Gat's topic of choice went straight to Furia and Bradshaw's impression of her skill, and the Saints’ second breathed a little easier. His eyes rose again, finding Furia too easily and he let his gaze wash over her slowly.  “Julius trusts her.”

“Julius trusts me,” Gat countered.

“Point taken.” Both of them laughed lightly as Troy turned his head again to look at Gat.

“Dex doesn’t like her much.”

“I think that’s because she questions him,” he said more quietly.

Johnny smirked and his head turned slightly. Troy assumed he glanced at Jackson then he felt those eyes on him again. “And we both know how much he loves questions.”

Another shared chuckle. “Well, she’s smart and she’s got guts. What else do you need to know?”

“Can she keep her cool?”

The question prompted another probing glance. Troy knew better than he should that she was a good choice, mainly because she was too stubborn not to be. He could not help but recall the times he had driven with her. Other people would get antsy or panicked in those sorts of situations, hell, Julius had, even he had once or twice. According to some of the tales he heard from Mikey and the others she was almost frighteningly collected in hairy situations.

Johnny’s hand tapped his, and drew Bradshaw out of his head. His eyes dropped to the table as he realized he not only had been staring, but been caught at it. Troy picked up his beer ran a thumb over the label before letting his attention return to the man beside him.

“Better than most,” Troy advised. “Why?”

Apparently the lieutenant had something big in the works and Johnny needed a solid driver, someone more than just trustworthy, that could handle a sensitive situation. It piqued Troy’s interest and his concern, wondering if this was the same operation the man had hinted at a while back.

**-2-**

After getting the scoop on Furia, again, Gat finally leaned back in his chair with the full intention of relaxing a little with the beer the waitress delivered a dozen or so minutes earlier. He knew what he wanted to do; knew it had to come off perfectly. He needed the perfect driver for this, someone Eash trusted, and someone who would do it right and be as careful as he would be. Well, he thought, much more careful than he would be. With a glance toward the dance floor, Johnny could not help but wonder if the new girl was indeed the one he could trust with this.

As he took the first sip of his bar, Johnny noticed the two women dancing beside each other--Aisha and Furia seemed to have struck up a fast friendship that he could not attribute only to what the latter had done for Zia. He knew the two were spending a great deal of time together and it was one more of those little things that left him feeling guilty. The plan also did, despite the fact that this idea was Aisha’s through and through. She wanted this. Saw it as the only way out. Johnny understood how she felt. He hated the way Kingdom Come Records had taken advantage of her, stolen her rights to songs she wrote and sang. He also could not help but despise they way they tried to control every aspect of her life, including her personal relationships. His jaw flexed tightly. Aisha wanted out; he wanted her out. And according to Aisha, and her lawyers, the only foreseeable way out would be to die. Even then the record company would still keep all the rights to her music. She saw this as her only chance to cut the leash from the Vice Kings’ organ grinder, and Johnny was bound and determined to make it happen, while taking every precaution.

Gat returned the sweet smile Aisha sent his way. He would make it happen. She wanted this, so he would get it done. His fingers moved over the condensation on the bottle as he watched the woman he would do just about anything for.

Eash's head bowed toward Furia's as the pair of them laughed then started comparing notes, or so it seemed as their steps synced. Whatever the dance was, Johnny couldn’t name it, but he figured it must be one of the Latin ones Furia had a reputation for. A moment or two later, judging from the swishy and enticing movements of their bodies, Johnny became more confident in his guess. They wound up hip to hip at first, and then Aisha edged just a few steps in front of Furia. That was the moment Gat's attention became rapt.

The hand on Aisha's shoulder was innocent enough.  Of course so was the way his lover set a hand on her friend's bare thigh to trace the taller woman’s movements. Johnny sucked at his teeth loudly, his jaw tightening. All intent lost hold as he watched the pair, letting his imagination repaint the innocence of the motions with something far less so.

At first the two women seemed oblivious to the growing interest in their conversation and dancing. Then Furia's hand moved to Aisha's hip and the taller woman leaned over his girl's shoulder to offer some sort of direction. At that moment, stunning hazel eyes lifted and met his gaze. A smirk curved her red stained lips. It was a dare, if ever he saw one, and Gat refused to turn it down. He did not know what she said to Aisha next; it did not matter, he could not look away. Johnny stared at Furia's mouth as it seemed to move with a smooth exactness that tightened his jaw. Then in an instant the attention of both women bore down on him.

Johnny swallowed thickly as Eash smiled at him--the sultry one that usually preceded her teasing the hell out of him. Whatever she said made Furia grin wider as she replied. Her eyes seemed locked on him because every time he looked at the Latina’s face her gaze was steady, and he would swear there was something just as lascivious in those hazel eyes as in the darker brown pair he knew so well. Their movements synced--the sway of their hips and tiny steps that kept their legs poised to make the most tempting display possible. Then there were those damnable hands. Neither seemed to mind the almost exploratory touches the other offered.

The pair of them stared at him as their teasing little dance drew a larger audience, judging by the chorus of hoots and howls from the corner. Aisha and Furia were dangerous enough on their own. Put them in concert and no one stood a chance. Neither was shy either. Aisha grabbed Furia by the hip, lowering herself slowly in a tempting little shimmy before letting her body slither back against the other woman's. The Latina showed a little more guts, running her hands across his girl’s bare midriff and tucking her thumbs the waistband of Aisha's shorts, which she then used to guide both their hips in a wide circle that brought a pulsing ache to his groin.

Gat leaned on his elbow his thumb absently rubbing across his bottom lip as he observed. He never noticed Furia's hands before, at least not until they slid along the dark column of Aisha's neck and gripped her hips tightly pulling them back toward her own. Those long delicate fingers with a precise short manicure in a shade that matched her lips openly moved over Aisha's thigh, her hand drawing the hem of Aisha's shorts up another inch as it moved.

When his girlfriend turned toward her friend, his heart nearly caught in his ribcage and half the room held its breath in anticipation of the prospect of a kiss. As Eash's lips pressed against Furia's cheek, even Gat loosed a groan of disappointment, though it was no more distressing than when the two finally separated a few moments later. A part of him could not help but wonder if he could talk them into a private showing, though he knew that suggestion might get him slapped... twice.

His chagrin must have been more obvious that he intended because they both laughed, as did several of the other women. Then the pair of them made a smooth and sultry beeline toward the area he and Bradshaw remained, while making a show of whispering to one another the entire time. It was an enticing sight, though no match for the dance. Eash slid into his lap. Furia took the empty seat to his right.

"You are so easily amused, Johnny." Her hips pressed against his as she kissed his cheek and he knew she would have something to say about it later.

"Me? The entire fucking place was caught up by your little show," Gat noted.

"Not everyone," Furia noted as she popped a pretzel in her mouth. "I'm sure there were a few people here that had zero interest in our playful display. Don’t you think, Eash?" The Latina grinned brightly; it made her eyes sparkle. "Now if you and Troy were to put on a little rendition. I'm sure the ladies and some of the guys would appreciate it."

Gat chuckled when he heard Bradshaw choking on his beer.

"Better chance of getting Julius and Dex up there," Aisha noted, stealing a sip from Johnny's bottle as well as peeking over at Troy with a satisfied little smile. She pressed a kiss to Johnny’s temple then smoothed her hand down the back of his hair. "This one can't hold a beat with both hands superglued to it."

Furia laughed gleefully. "You mean there is something you're not good at?" She raised her eyebrows at the willful lieutenant. "My entire image of you has been shattered, Johnny. I may never recover from my disillusionment," she said, completely deadpan.

He cast a dismissive wave at her, which prompted Furia to flash him a cute half smile and a wink. "What's the word on Sam?" Johnny asked, taking his longneck bottle back.

Her brow furrowed as her head tilted and her mouth tightened impatiently. She stood and dusted off her hands together then leaned on the arm of his chair, looming over him. "If I recall, the last time you asked me that question, I told you as soon as I knew anything, you'd know. I haven't heard anything yet. Either he's found someone else or he's waiting for a job to come in. Hell, maybe both. But same deal goes. I hear. You hear. So, stop asking mother hen."

"Fine. Fine."

"Ease up, Johnny," Aisha whispered in his ear. "And save me a dance later, mujer," she called as Furia straightened and started back across the room.

The Latina turned and shimmied her shoulders at Aisha, as she said, "Anytime, belleza."

"As long as I get to watch," Johnny growled against his lover's neck.

Aisha swatted him on the shoulder. "Get your mind out of the gutter," she scolded.

"But a dirty mind is a terrible thing to waste."

"You are horrible."

"Says the woman that contrived that entire thing."

"You were already ogling. So I figured we should give you something to see."

Johnny shook his head. "Well, it was kind of hot."

"Yeah, well it's only a floor show," Aisha added, anticipating the direction his mind was working.

"I'm fine with that--floor, table, wall--I can make just about anything work."

When she swatted him this time, Gat slid his hand higher up her thigh. She grabbed his wrist then bent her mouth to his. "You liked that way too much."

"You roll your hips again, and I'll make you scream my name right here in front of everyone."

She smirked and kissed him before slipping off his lap. "I think not."

Johnny smacked her ass before she got too far away, which earned him a glare which he laughed off. He shifted slightly to his left, toward the man sitting beside him. "Fuck. Part of me hopes they don't do that again."

Troy nodded, gesturing toward the scene on the other side of the bar. "Judging from Memo's reaction, so does he."

"Damn,” Johnny noted, watching Furia lecture her brother. Or at least that's what he assumed by the look on the huge man's face despite the imperturbation which settled over her. “It’s like that eerie kind of calm before the storm bullshit.”

“That’s how some of the guys describe it. You go grab something scary and get in someone’s face,” the Saints second described. “I manhandle them, ruffle 'em. Dex yells and screams. But she gets all quiet.”

“I think I prefer loud and in your face.”

“Because it is easier to counter rowdy and confrontational. It’s harder to react to that," Troy said, tipping his chin toward the two siblings across the room. "Restrained and muted. That kind of creepy calm that makes you feel like you're on the menu. I mean just look at the way she’s stalking him; guy looks like prey.” Bradshaw gestured toward the brother and sister on the other side of the room.

Johnny glanced over at him, peeking at Bradshaw over the rims of his glasses. “You keep staring like that and the next dance is going to be your fault,” Gat noted with a laugh as he leaned back in his chair. He didn’t pay much mind to the nervous chuckle Bradshaw replied with or the way he fidgeted for a moment. Johnny nodded his head at Aisha when she waved at him, an action he mirrored when Furia sat down at the table with his girlfriend and was apparently told to do the same. “Yeah. Those two are way too much trouble,” he muttered, garnering an approving response from the man beside him.

**-3-**

The side door of the club opened with a yawning metallic groan. A few heel scuffs announced a woman's exit. Troy glanced up and could not help but smile as Furia tugged her puffy coat around her and stamped her feet twice each. Troy felt a bit sorry for her, out, bare-legged, on a night like that. The weather forecast predicted a hard freeze that night, even so she braved the cold nonetheless, thankfully, oblivious to his presence at the moment.

He watched her for a bit as she paced slowly across the alley. Then finally he decided to suck it up and break the silence as he glanced up the street. "That dance of yours was something else."

Furia stopped her lightly pounding steps suddenly at the sound of his voice. She turned slowly, a coy smirk painting her face. After a moment, and another glance toward the street, she strolled toward him with a pace markedly unlike the march she made across the width of the alleyway. Each footstep echoed off the moist brick. "Well, you know, sometimes a girl just wants to make her guy sweat it. Who was I to thwart that?"

"Aisha does seem to have a bit of a playful streak that borders on mean," Troy noted as he watched Furia carefully.

"Oh, that. That wasn't mean," Furia replied with a telling grin.

"I'm almost afraid to ask what might have met that definition, then."

Her gaze rose to the brick wall behind him for a moment before returning to his. "If she'd sat in my lap instead of his that would have been mean.”

"Okay. Yeah, you're probably right." Troy laughed lightly, suddenly too damn aware of how close she had gotten. At that moment his mind seemed hell bent on calculating precisely how near her lips were and the angle of the curve that smile. "Where are you off to?"

Furia slipped her hands into her pockets. "Nowhere interesting. I don't have clearance to escape quite yet, but I think I’m going to risk it. Kind of hoping to sleep in tomorrow." She leaned toward him with the last bit of her statement, made in a conspiratorial whisper.

He exhaled and crushed the cigarette under the toe of his boot. Bradshaw grabbed her collar and pulled it a little more tightly around her neck, trying to distract himself with the idea of keeping as much of her warm possible, which he realized a second too late was not what should be thinking about. "Clearance?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I still owe Aisha a dance," she said as her eyes lit mischievously.

His mind muddled with the mere possibility of a repeat performance. "Ah. Going to rile the entire place again?"

"It might be fun."

"You know, you give them too much of a good thing and they'll start to expect it."

"Speaking from experience or more from self preservation?"

Troy grinned. He could feel the blush warming his cheeks that he really hoped Furia did not notice it. "I could drive you home."

"Why?"

"Why not?" he countered, which prompted her eyes to narrow at him despite the trace of a smile playing on her lips. "Maybe it's my way of making up for the fact that I couldn't torture you with a horrible movie and mediocre pizza the other night, or maybe I'm just a gentleman and you look like you might be a bit cold. Either way I figure the least I could do is keep you from having to brave an aromatic ride home in a Stilwater taxi."

"You're assuming I still don't have my car."

A single nod confirmed her accusation. "If I'm wrong I'd love to get a glimpse," he challenged. The shift of her weight from one foot to the other brought her much closer to him, much to his pleasure. Troy curled a lock of her hair around his finger as he smiled down at her. "I think you're trying to distract me."

Her head tilted slightly as she leaned closer to him. "Maybe I just caught a sudden chill."

"I have a solution for that," Troy said, hooking his finger under her chin to lift her lips to his. The intended single peck turned into a few before he slipped his hand behind her head and took full advantage her parted lips.

The light hum in her throat goaded him onward until she leaned away, breathing heavier. "I think I rather like that approach," Furia said in a low voice as she blinked up at him.

"Well experts do say sharing warmth is the best way to stave off the cold," he replied with a mischievous grin.

He all but yelped when she tested his theory. Her cold fingers, tucking under his shirt and pressing against his waist, startled him. His jump back made her laugh, one of those mesmerizing laughs where her eyes sparked with mirth.

"That was just cruel."

She bit her bottom lip and shrugged a shoulder at him then held up two fingers in measurement. "Maybe just a little.

"Come on." He gestured toward the street with a tip of his head. "My car's just up the block."

The headlights drew both their attention. "But my cab's already here. And good money says it's already warm."

"I'm warm, mostly," he countered, holding his arms out to the side in invitation for her to check again. Furia's giggle played off the brick as she walked toward the yellow-orange vehicle.

"That is true. You are also much more tempting," she added, "which is why I’m taking the cab. Buenas noches."

Troy groaned quietly then nodded. "G'night." He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket as he watched her slip into the backseat. As the cab drove down the alley, Furia cast him another of those distracting smiles, waving her fingertips in farewell. "Fuck," he muttered as the taillights turned the corner. The exclamation came only in part due to the fact that her cab had arrived at all, let alone in a timely manner, which was all but unheard of in Stilwater.

The flame of his lighter flickered in the icy breeze. Bradshaw leaned against the brick and exhaled a long stream of smoke as he stared up the moon. All the reminders why he should not be starting something up with her raced through his brain once more. He could recite them all by heart. Logical reasons, illogical reasons, justifications, regulations--every possible argument why he should not do any of the things he considered whenever those bright hazel eyes met his. The more time he spent around her the more those old justifications paled in comparison to her vibrancy. Furia was a force to be reckoned with and she truly did fascinate him. Though, maybe captivate captured his reaction better, he thought as he remained glued to that spot, alone in the relative silence and dullness of the blustery night.

**-4-**

When a shiver wracked her body, Aisha reached out, expecting to find something large and warm to cuddle up next to in order to stave off the cold. Though the chill stirred her, the discovery of cold sheets woke her. Her head popped up off the satin sheets, but the room was empty except for her cat perched almost regally on the back of a chair as it surveyed the darkness beyond the windows. The singer slid out of the bed and grabbed her robe, which was draped on the footboard. She had a guess where she would find him, but still it worried her that he seemed unable to sleep through the night of late.

As she crept down the stairs, she watched him quietly. Johnny stood there at the edge of the floor-to-ceiling windows looking across the river toward the part of the city where they had both grown up. The arm crossed over his chest served as a foundation for the other as his thumb and forefinger slowly pinched at his bottom lip over and over again.

She should not have been able to have gotten close enough to touch him before he turned, she thought, as she pressed her palm up his back. It swept over his shoulder as he glanced over his shoulder. Her nose and lips skimmed his spine as she nuzzled against his cool skin.

"Did I wake you?" Johnny's voice was rough and low. His warm hands encouraged Aisha's embrace around his waist.

"No," she answered. It was a half truth at best. She always thought him not being there made it harder for her to sleep soundly, though whenever she thought it or said it she felt a little silly. "Why are you up at this hour?"

"No reason."

"Then how is it you didn't react until I touched you?" Aisha inquired with a hint of mild accusation in her voice, her lips still brushing against the curve of his back.

"I saw you on the stairs, beautiful." He turned enough to coax her to slide around him. When she stepped between Johnny and the window, he swept his hands over her face, palms grazing her cheeks as his fingertips threaded through her braids. "That slow quiet cautious walk of yours. I just wanted to watch you," he admitted with a half smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Aisha's eyes fluttered as his thumbs brushed her temples. "Talk to me, Johnny."

"About what?"

"Whatever brought you down here before dawn," she countered, her hands tugging lightly at the back of his waist.

His lips brushed her forehead before he hugged her to his chest, his chin resting atop her head. "You're sure you want to do this?" he murmured.

Aisha tensed and wrapped her arms tighter around him, gaining a mirrored response from him. "There is no other way. I'm going to lose everything I've done to date. I can't get out of the contract without losing the little bit I do have in comparison."

"We could just--"

"Johnny." She leaned back and looked up at him; his gaze meeting hers quickly. "I just want a little life." One of her hands moved up his chest stopping there over his heart. "My family. My friends." She moved her hand to the back of his neck as she rose on her tip toes. "You," she said, placing a light kiss on his mouth. "That's all I want. I can't have that like this."

As he nodded, his nose grazed hers. "Okay. I think I found the missing piece, if I can talk her into it."

"Furia?"

"She's probably the best driver we have. Plus, you two seem close. Might make her as careful as I need."

"Guess I might need to tell her."

Johnny shook his head. "No need. I'll explain it to her plain."

"Which means you'll threaten her."

"What?" he asked at her incredulous look. "It's effective."

"She's my friend," Aisha huffed.

"Eash."

She leveled that look that always made him cave and he chuckled at her, pulling her body flush against his. "Fine. I'll explain without threats. Happy?"

"Promise," she countered. Her palms pressed firmly to Johnny's chest.

"You know I'm just trying to make sure this all goes off without a hitch, right?"

The look, again.

"Fine. I promise. No threats."

Aisha, minimally satisfied, clasped her hands at the base of his neck. "Is she really that good?"

"Dex hates her because she improvises. Julius came back from a drive with her white knuckled. Troy says she's thorough. And she's got guts. I don't know if that makes her good. But I think it moves her to the top of the list. Since you two are friends, I figure that might give her more reason to do it right," Johnny explained as his hands moved up and down her back in tandem.

"You've put a lot of thought into this."

Johnny's brow furrowed as his eyes narrowed just a hair. "Of course, I did," he said in a tone that seemed surprised by her revelation. "This is your life we're talking about. I'm not taking any chances."

"Johnny," she breathed after a breathless little shock passed.

"I love you, Eash. I'd do anything for you. But I can't lose you."

Aisha launched toward him just enough to get her arms all the way around his neck. Then she turned her head and pressed a warm languid kiss to that sensitive spot beneath his ear. "I can't lose you either," she whispered against his skin.

As he cradled her head, she leaned into his touch. Johnny brought his lips to hers and Aisha sank into the embrace. She did not hold back the soft sigh that accompanied the sweep of the back of his fingers across her belly as he opened her robe. The glass, cool against her back, countered the heat of Johnny as he enveloped her. The weight of his chest against hers, the rough caress of his scarred hands as they lifted her legs so she could wrap them around his hips. Aisha enjoyed it when Johnny took his time like he did then.

She held onto him tightly, moving with him as best she could. Breathing him deeply she lost herself in his intense gaze; he always looked at her as if he could read the things written on her very soul. That was one of the things about Johnny she loved--he always saw her. He saw the gleeful girl that grew up singing along with the radio and in the church choir. He saw the girl that cried for hours after her Zia came home thankfully unharmed. He just saw her, not all the extra things, just who she was. And that was something she wanted, something she needed.

Her eyes closed as the movements and the sensations coursing through her sharpened. She felt release wash over her to a chorus of their names breaking the silence of the night. His name rolled off her tongue in a soft deep moan, while hers was roughly growled against her neck. They stayed like that for a time--wrapped up in and coiling around one another. Aisha bent her head toward him, peppering his brow and cheeks with meaningful pecks until she found his lips.

"I love you Johnny," she told him again as she stroked his face with an ethereal touch. He smiled at her, one that reached his eyes making them dance beautifully, as he stretched just a hair to close the distance between their lips.


	28. Deviations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Furia finally gets her first set of car keys, and her second. It is that second set that brings with it more trouble than anyone expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Great amounts of appreciation to Kakumei and Chyrstis for taking the time to beta this. On another side of the coin, I am so glad that people enjoy this piece. I swear to you that I'm updating as often as I can, but sometimes the muse and my own perfectionism do mean that it is not going to update as quickly as we all might like.

**28 Deviations**

**-1-**

Tugging on the signal wire that ran by the windows, Furia stood up and moved toward the rear door of the bus. Once it stopped, she leaned onto the vertical handles heavily and pushed through the doors. Yet again, they clamped back closed so quickly she nearly missed getting her hand out in time. Sometimes getting off the bus was the most dangerous part of the proposition of public transportation, she thought for a moment. Even for the time of day, the area was quiet, but then Samson didn't keep his shop in a busy part of town. She strolled to the corner and waited for a tractor trailer to pass before jogging across the street. She was in no rush, at least not yet, but there were a few needle pricks of excitement, though she did notice her pace quicken once the shop came into view.

Her teeth chewed at her bottom lip as she crossed the quiet shop, offering a nod to one of the salesman as she passed into the bay. At least her repeated presence at Samson's garage now calmed the less mature members of his staff, judging by the fact that she made it to the burly man's office without so much as a whistle or a cat call. Of course that could be due in part to the fact that the last time she almost broke the idiot's hand. Furia knew one thing, threaten a man's livelihood or his manhood and he backed off pretty quickly. Sure, she might get a reputation for being the _bruja loca_ , or less politely the _puta loca_ , but it served a purpose. And Furia could care less if these guys thought her crazy. Their opinions meant next to nothing.

The thought brought back a flash of the other night, outside the club, and she tried not to smile as she recalled Troy's reaction to her cold hands. That was an opinion she cared about. It was something she had not expected.

The crash against the wall sounded serious. It was not the kind of clatter she normally heard there. Furia leaned in the doorway as Samson growled into the phone. "When's the soonest you can get it to me?"

She watched stone-faced as his fist connected with the desk.

"I needed that part this morning. _As you promised_." His eyes finally rose to Furia's and he gave her a nod laced with a scowl. "Fine, get it to me as soon as possible, but the price just dropped. As did your reputation, cuz."

When he hung up the phone, she straightened. "Problems?"

"Only when I deal with anyone but you," he chided darkly.

"What can I say?"

He chuckled at her with a shake of his head. "You can say thank you," he replied, pulling open a drawer and digging out a set of keys.

When he dangled them at her, Furia couldn't help but grin. "She's done?"

"Si, senorita. Ella es belleza," he told her in stilted Spanish as he tossed her the keys. Her look brightened when she caught them. "Even better? Her sister should be ready in about a week. But this one should stand up to the test too. She is a powerful beast. And that engine was in beautiful shape. I hardly had to touch her guts. Though I did change out all the hoses and such to be sure."

Furia couldn't help the excited little jump as she rounded the desk to hug him. "Samson. Gracias. Muchas, muchas, muchas gracias," she said, gripping his overalls tightly and shaking him a bit.

Samson laughed, one arm going around her waist and patting her side as she embraced him with great enthusiasm. "Come on. She's out back," he told her, gesturing back toward the door.

The two exited the office and headed down the steps into the bay. Furia froze for a second when she heard the engine approaching the bay--its distinct and familiar rumble tugged the corners of her mouth upward just a bit. She didn't see the car pulling into the garage because a large SUV on one of the lifts blocked the view. By the time it pulled into the bay she had fallen a few steps behind Samson. Slowing her pace even more, she listened to the upset little sound the engine made before it died.

"Oh, that does not sound good," Samson noted as he detoured toward the Bootlegger.

"You're telling me," Troy agreed as he climbed out. "Tell me you've got someone that can take a look."

Samson sucked on his teeth for a moment. "Best I can do is get to her tomorrow. But that'd be the first chance I have just to see what the problem is. It could just be carbon build up or the timing. You're not using that cheap ass gas in her, are you?"

Furia couldn't help but laugh when Troy gave Samson _the look_ \--the stern, exasperated one she had caught herself a few times. She could see something in his carriage shift when he realized she was there. One hand dove into his pocket and she was fairly certain that he would have already had a cigarette out and lit if not for the mechanic's strict policy against smoking in his garage.

"And if it's something more intensive?" Bradshaw asked, his eyes darting back to Samson.

"Piston damage I can probably deal with. But if that knock is because of something wrong with the block, there's not much I can do then." The large man shook his head gravely, as he ran a hand along the front quarter panel. "Did it just start today?"

"Nah. A few days ago."

"You been pushing her hard?"

"Not really. She ran open about a week back, but--" he looked over at Furia. She knew what he was asking the moment his eyes met hers and shook her head. Nothing happened in that race that should have caused any damage like that. "--everything went fine."

Samson stared at the car for nearly a full minute before nodding. "Strange. I'll take a peek. You want me to call you a cab?"

Furia cleared her throat. "If you're headed back to the church, I could give you a lift," she offered, dangling the keys from her finger.

Samson turned and grinned at her. "You just want to show off that breezer," he chided with a deep rumbling laugh.

With a smirk, she shrugged one shoulder at the men. "Hell yeah."

All three of them laughed. "You finally got that car the way you wanted it?" Troy asked with a lingering glance.

"Mostly," she said, causing Samson to grumble. "I'm kidding. I was about to find out. Samson just gave me the keys."

"Oh, very nice."

"It's quite a piece of work," Samson noted.

"Then let's go," Furia said with a not so casual nod toward the back of the shop.

"Lead the way, chica. And call me this week. I might have work for you."

"I figured as much," she replied as she strolled into the back hallway. After overhearing his phone call, she guessed that the next time he needed less than straight work done he might just be tapping her. It suited her just fine. In fact it would help bolster her reputation and might attract a few prospects as well as some of those who were still wary about dealing with her.

Samson turned his attention to the other Saint. "And Troy, I'll take a look first thing tomorrow. Give you a ring with the diagnosis and an estimate."

"And a timeline," Bradshaw added.

"Sure thing."

 

**-2-**

Furia led the way down the thin hallway; her pace outstripped both the men that followed her. _That walk of hers can hypnotize_ , at least that's what Troy thought as he accompanied her. Realizing he was lagging behind, he quickened his own pace to catch up to her. The last few days he found moments of boredom peppered with unintentional thoughts about the precise way she turned down his offer of a ride home a few days earlier. Of course a part of him felt certain that if that cab had arrived a few minutes later she might have just taken him up on it.

"Thanks for the offer," he mumbled when he caught up to her at the door to the back lot.

As she stepped through the door, Furia turned playfully. "De nada," she replied, wearing a big grin. "Besides it's the least I could do, considering."

He felt his lips curve, though not quite as broadly as hers, when he nodded his agreement. The car was easy to pick out. Even if it had not been the only convertible back there, he still would have picked it out easily. Furia had not changed the vehicle much from the way it looked when she bought it. But the paint job was fresh, the ragtop had been repaired and refurbished, and it was likely the interior had been redone as well since it was also in pretty poor condition.

"Dios," Furia breathed, stopping dead in her tracks a few feet from the vehicle. "She looks gorgeous. You did an amazing job."

"Gracias," Samson called from the back door just before it slammed closed.

The body bore no signs of the rusting Troy noticed when Furia purchased the car. The Hammerhead looked like it had just driven off the showroom floor.

"Damn, man. Do you have a time machine or what?" Troy asked with clear respect and admiration.

Furia darted past him and launched herself at the mechanic, who caught her with a grunt that turned into a laugh. "She's amazing. Just perfect." Furia kissed him on the cheek before she loosed her hold on the large man and walked slowly back toward the car. "Absolute perfection," she breathed softly, shaking her head at the vehicle.

Troy thought her awe justified. It was her first car after all, or so she had told him, and Samson had done a damn fine job putting her back together.

"Well I do try," the mechanic said with a note of pride as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Samson and Troy both followed her over. Bradshaw took note of the enthusiastic little hop in her step. Her contagious excitement brought a half smile that pulled at his mouth, though he tried to bite it back quickly. He wandered to the passenger side. When Furia leaned across the car to unlock the door for him, those bright eyes enchanted him, tugging at that smile he tried in vain to control. The mechanic leaned on the driver's side door detailing all the bells and whistles. Furia just sat back in the driver's seat, her hands grazing over the steering wheel as she eyed the dash.

With that completed, the car started. Her eyes closed for a moment; the engine really did sound like a beast. He could tell she was pleased and if the little shiver was any indication, ecstatic might be a better description. He didn't expect her to stop before they pulled onto the street, which was clear.

Suddenly she turned that look of joy on him. Her eyes were bright, lit with a wild life that seemed to match the freedom in her smile. He lost himself there in her gaze for a moment as she leaned toward him. "So, is there anything pressing on your schedule, or can I tempt you with a late lunch?"

"Tempt away," he replied with a smile of his own that had nothing at all to do with the car. There was no way Troy would pass up that offer.

Her backs of her fingers brushed against his hand. "Good. I'll even let you choose," she added as she pulled out onto the street.

Within half an hour the convertible was parked under a tree near a deserted beach. The two of them were perched on the edge of her trunk with the cardboard box from the restaurant between them. Waves crashed against the shore violently, the light gray sky contrasted the gray-green water with the vibrant white peaks. The weather blustered like the water. The biting chill coming in off the coast deterred most people from the beaches in the dead of winter and prompted Troy to button up his coat. The snow flurries weren't helping either.

Furia's laughter brought his eyes to her face.

"What?" Troy asked, smiling at the sound and wondering the reason.

"Where did you grow up?" she asked with a smile, her chopsticks pressed against the corner of her mouth.

"Why?"

"You're not from Stilwater." She set down the little white take-out container before unfurling the scarf she wore.

"Come again?"

Furia crooked her finger at him. When he shifted toward her, she wrapped the thick black scarf around his neck a few times. "No one who grew up here would walk around in the dead of winter in that sad excuse for a coat. Especially on the coastline. Very cold winds. You need a real coat, Troy," she lectured as she tucked the tails of the scarf inside his jacket.

"Like yours?" he chided, tugging the puffy sleeve of her thick coat.

"It's warmer than yours."

"Then maybe you should share."

The smile she gave him made Bradshaw lean over their makeshift Thai takeout picnic on her trunk. He smiled against her mouth when he felt her little tug on the borrowed scarf as they kissed.

"You really are partial to that method of warming people up, aren't you?" Furia murmured.

For good measure, Troy kissed her again. "It's effective."

"That it is." She sealed her agreement with another lingering peck, before she straightened.

"Hey, now. I'm still cold." He argued, holding his hands out to his sides questioningly.

She giggled at him as she picked up the box of Kaow Pad Sub Pa Rod[i]. "Two words of advice. Hand warmers."

Troy smirked at her and pressed one hand up the side of her thigh.

"That is not what I meant."

"I distinctly remember someone tucking their freezing hands under my shirt," Bradshaw argued. He loved her laugh--hearing it, but even more so causing it.

"You're the one that said you were warm. I was just checking."

"So am I," he countered as his hand slid behind her neck.

Furia cringed; her surprised screech fell into vibrant laughter. Then he kissed her again savoring the little hint of sweetness on her lips. When she broke the kiss, she wet her lips quickly then looked at him seriously. "Um, just so you know that's totally not going to make up for the cold fingers, Frosty."

"That was merely payback for the other night."

Troy didn't care that her hands were cold; he savored the feeling of her fingertips grazing along his jaw. "Eat, before it gets too cold to enjoy," she told him with a laugh as she pulled away again.

"It's not the food that is making this afternoon enjoyable," he told her. The hint of a blush on her cheeks made him smile, because he knew it was not caused by the wind. "And to answer your earlier question, no I'm not from Stilwater. I grew up in Peachtree City."

"Well that explains the jacket."

"Hey, now! I'll have you know I actually got this jacket in Stilwater."

"If I had to guess that was either the first one you picked up, or the sales person wanted you out of their store."

Troy's jaw dropped; he stared at her aghast for a moment.

"Tell me I'm wrong," she dared. When he said nothing, Furia laughed, chewing on the end of her chopsticks for a moment. "So, which was it?"

"First one I grabbed," he admitted with a laugh. His grin widened when he felt her foot graze his ankle.

"You'll have to be more discerning next time."

"Is that an offer to help me pick one out?" he asked as he nabbed a piece of moo yang.

Furia grabbed his hand and redirected the path of his chopsticks.

 "Thief!"

Chewing, she nodded, trying not to choke while laughing. "On an expansive scale," she chuckled, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I see that. I can't believe you took my bite."

"And I can't believe you're surprised by it. Shrimp?" Furia tipped the box toward him. In the restaurant, she had told him the shrimp and pineapple jasmine fried rice was one of her favorite dishes. Thus far, she proved it, not releasing her hold on the box. He certainly would not resist the offer, even if he was not a fan of sweet non-dessert foods. The fact that he liked it surprised him, and the Thai chiles lended a heat and extra bit of savory to the dish.

"I thought this was your favorite?" he asked, trying to get a little of the jasmine rice with a shrimp.

"It is, but I can share when properly motivated."

"Do tell."

She smiled shyly. A lovely hint of pink flushed her cheeks again as her eyes turned toward the box she was poking at with her utensils. "Nothing to tell, really," she mumbled then leaned toward him offering another carefully chosen nibble. Biting wind, thin jacket, rapidly cooling food--none of that mattered, none of that could sour the moment. As delicious as the food was it did not hold his attention or interest up to that moment. It was another of those cannot resist offers that Furia seemed to always have in her pocket.

 

**-3-**

Thumping bass and powerful rhythms vibrated the glass and reverberated off the inside of Gat's skull. The music blared loudly and helped to keep his head clear of the worry trying to creep in. At that moment obnoxious music was exactly what he needed. Things had come together for his plan more quickly than he thought they would. After parking his Venom in the spot that, in the past, would have been reserved for hearses to transport coffins for burial, he marched across the courtyard to the sound of his own sharp footsteps.

When he walked into his office, he was greeted by the sight of a pair of purple boots propped on the corner of his desk and the smell of coffee paired with a hint of vanilla. Furia nodded at him while sipping at her own cup, but there was another tall white paper cup on the table. "Aisha mentioned you take yours black," she said without fanfare.

Johnny dug the set of keys out of his pocket and tossed them at her. When she caught them, the driver glanced at the ring a moment before her gaze tracked him across the room. "You shouldn't have," the Latina mused with the start of a smile on her face.

"I've been asking about you. Just about everyone says the same three things," he said as he grabbed the cup. The chair squeaked violently when he sat down.

"And what would those three things be?"

"You can drive. You're reliable. And you don't leave a job undone," Johnny listed, counting them off on his fingers.

"That's mighty nice of them. Whoever they are."

The two of them stared at one another, each sipping at their cups as they sized one another up. Her obvious inspection impressed Johnny. Most people merely took him on his rep, but Furia was trying to get a read on him.

"And what are these for?" Furia asked, jingling the keys at him.

"I need you for something … important," Johnny confided. He rested his elbows on the table as he watched her, turning the inspection the other way around.

"Done."

Her quick succinct answer, given with no sign of hesitation piqued his curiosity. "You don't even know what the job is."

Her feet dropped to the stone floor with a clunk. "Little birdies say you've been working on something big for almost a month now. You check up on me, then offer me a place in whatever plan you're working on. What makes you think I'd be stupid enough, or suicidal enough to say no to doing _any_ job for Johnny Gat? Let alone one with legs like this." Furia leaned on the other side of the desk, mimicking Johnny's posture. Her gaze never wavered, never showed an ounce of anything but resolve.

The young woman really had managed to arouse his interest.

"Besides, I might know a little more than you think."

Johnny smirked. Furia certainly did make a splash. "How much did she tell you?"

"Not much really. Just that you were putting something together and might offer me an in. She also said it had to do with her, but she didn't give me specifics," Furia revealed, relaxing back in her chair again. Her cup rose to her lips as she waited for him to fill her in.

"Well, all that is on the money." Johnny stood and rounded the desk. His hip rested against the edge as he all but loomed over the seated woman. "Eash's going to meet a tragic and untimely end," he said darkly.

This revelation drew Furia's brow downward as she shifted forward. "The fuck?"

"Her call," he offered in explanation, peeking over the edge of his glasses at her. "According to her lawyers it's the only way out of the contract. She feels enslaved--her words."

"What are the keys for? You wanting me to hit her with a car or something?"

"Or something."

Furia rolled her eyes at him.

"We're faking her death. It's all in place, except a driver whose face almost no one knows is one of ours. Which is where you come in," Johnny revealed leaning over her. "There's a limo in Samson's back lot. The code for the gate is 9568. You're going to drive that car to her building, pick her up and take her to the studio. You'll park the car out front and walk away. Simple as that."

"Walk away?"

"The car's loaded with enough explosives to feel the blast on the southside."

"¡Me cago en todo lo que se menea!" Furia muttered.

Johnny laughed, wildly enough to indicate he knew what she said.

The young woman eyed him suspiciously.

"What? You really think I grew up in this neighborhood without picking up some Spanish? I might not speak it worth a damn, but I know a lot more than I let on."

"So how am I detonating this thing?" she asked, shaking her head at him.

He did not know if she acted in disbelief, or if it was merely her trying to clear her head. "You aren't. It's on a timer. Once the ignition is turned off you have two minutes."

"Two minutes? Pinche tejón. Are you crazy?"

"I think the jury's still out on that one." Johnny shrugged. His brow drew downward when she called him a _fucking badger_. The distracting thought that Lin must have told her that nickname flitted through his head.  

"Two minutes. Okay." She shook her head, staring up at him. He could almost see it in her eyes, her thought process ticking away. "And how am I getting out of there?"

"Some of the boys will be waiting for you in the parking lot of Howell Towers near the freeway on-ramp. Green Stiletto with Pennsylvania plates on the third level of the parking structure," Gat explained.

Furia narrowed her eyes at him again, for quite a long time. Then she stood, setting her cup on the desk with a loud hollow sound. "Fine. Give me a ride to the garage?"

Gat smirked at her before he turned his head and yelled for Dean-O. "You'll need to change first. Look the part," he said, straightening up. "And just a heads up. That stuff might be kind of twitchy so take it easy. You blow up my girl and I'll find you in hell."

The look in his eyes as he peeked over the rims of his smoky shades told her that on that point he was dead serious. Furia held out her hand and Johnny clasped it tightly. "I know. I've got it under control. I think I even have a black suit that should fit the bill."

The look in her eyes worked hard to convince him. Suddenly in that moment he felt damn near certain this might come off without a hitch.

"Yo!" Dean-O said in way of greeting when he cracked the door and poked his head in.

"Drive the chica here home, then to Samson's," Johnny ordered. When she reached the door he held up the cup and tilted it side to side slightly. "And thanks for the coffee."

"De nada," Furia replied as she left, closing the door behind her.

Johnny paced for a few minutes before falling back into his chair and letting his head fall into his palms. He could feel his pulse racing through his body, pounding in his joints and at the base of his skull. He knew he would be on edge until he got that call from Aisha saying she was fine. So he scrubbed his hands over his face and leaned back in the chair. All there was left to do was wait. Everything else was in place. Now it just had to play out.  _Preferably without a hitch_ , he hoped.

 

**-4-**

Once the engine started, Furia's tension skyrocketed. The only thing she knew was that the car brimmed with explosives and the timer would be keyed by the engine. _Or maybe they linked it to the ignition_ , Furia thought as she waited for Aisha in front of her high rise. "Does it really matter?" she mumbled. Her fingers drummed on the steering wheel and her heel tamped against the floor. When the door opened, Furia startled.

After a moment of chastising herself, Furia took a long deep breath. She needed to calm down if she was going to get through this drive. She'd never been this nervous behind the wheel before. Other than a quick exchange of nods there was no greeting between the two. When no conversation sprang up, Furia turned on the classical station hoping to find something playing that might ease her concern about the bomb she was driving through morning traffic in Stilwater, home of the worst drivers in the country.

"Johnny told you all of it, huh?" Aisha asked as the limousine pulled into bumper to bumper traffic on the highway.

"Si." The succinct answer tossed them into silence again. Furia kept playing it through her mind. "Why are you doing this?" she finally asked.

"I can't do this anymore."

Furia looked at Aisha in the rearview mirror. Her friend fidgeted for a moment then she crossed the back of the car and took the seat right on the other side of the lowered window separating the driver's seat from the cabin.

"When I was a kid I loved to sing. I'd make up songs all the time and write my own lyrics to others I knew. I loved music," Aisha explained in a wistful tone. "I started down this path because I wanted to sing. Mostly, I wanted to sing my own songs. In the beginning it was fun--sharing my passion with people. Playing tiny nightclubs and pubs all over. God, in those little places you could feel people react to the music. It used to be about more than the money …" Her voice trailed off.

"And now?"

Aisha gave a gruff laugh. "Now? I'm a trained seal. I perform on command--sing and dance what and when I'm told and with whom. It's not about the music anymore. The art and life has been sucked out of it. Out of me," she noted. Furia glanced over and found Aisha picking at the seam in the leather seat. "I was young and stupid when I signed. It worked in the record company's favor. I believed what they told me, and didn't know what I signed until it was too late. All the rights are held by Williams and Kingdom Come Records, and my percentage is a pittance compared to what it should be."

The singer rested her chin on her arm and seemed to watch the traffic. "I haven't loved singing for a long time because of Warren Williams and Benjamin King. And I just want it all to be over. Maybe then I can get some semblance of a life back."

"I can see wanting out, but isn't this a little extreme?" Furia asked with genuine concern in her voice. She turned for a moment and met her friend's gaze.

"It's all that's left. I've had some of the best contract lawyers in the country work with me to break away. The only way I can get out from under it is to wait out the next five years, at which point I'll still lose rights to all the work I've done since I signed. Or … "

"Your death," Furia mumbled.

"Sadly."

Furia took a long moment, inching the vehicle forward. "You do realize this is going to severely limit our brunch options," the driver said, smiling cheekily at her friend.

Aisha giggled. It was precisely the response that Furia sought. "We'll figure something out."

The conversation for the rest of the ride lightened remarkably. Furia could understand it, kind of, but what it asked of Aisha was almost too much to consider. She was forcing herself into the position where she had to disappear and give up something that meant a great deal to her. Then she was going to have to cut off contact with everyone she knew--friends, family, Johnny.  It could be years before she would be able to reconnect with them. Furia tried not to think about it too much, but could not fight the idea that this was not a situation she herself could handle.

When they pulled up outside the studio, Furia looked back at her friend and laid her hand on the other woman's. "You ready for this?"

"As ready as one can be," Aisha sighed.

"Good luck, mujer."

The singer held onto Furia's hand tightly for a long moment. "Thank you."

One of the doormen opened the passenger door and the driver watched her friend climb out. Aisha seemed quite jovial as she trotted up the steps into the building. Once she passed through the doors, Furia gave her a few minutes. Then she checked on the doormen huddled together in the cold sharing a smoke. They seemed completely oblivious to her presence. Seeing that, she cut off the engine and stepped out of the car, walking across the street before the armed men at the door were aware of what she had done.

Furia went for a straight shot. She walked with purpose, rushing along the boutique storefronts at a pace much quicker than it would have been normally. Despite that, her haste did not make her stand out among the rush of suited lawyers and would-be business tycoons. Most of them were moving at least as quickly as she was.

It did not seem like two minutes had passed before the blast pushed her into the marble façade of Stilwater Municipal Trust Bank. The impact left her reeling while her ears rang violently from the blast. Shaking her head to clear her vision, Furia noticed the cloud of dust. She scrambled to her feet and dashed up the street, regretting having followed Johnny's instructions to a tee because her dressy flats kept her from getting a good stride as she ran up the sidewalk, with a few dozen others all seeking to avoid the cloud of dust and debris.

Holding the tail of her jacket over her nose and mouth, Furia kept moving away from the blast site until she could no longer see. Totally engulfed in the cloud, she pressed against doors over and over again until finally one opened. The tiny café was packed with about twenty people and a quartet of Stilwater's finest. _Chingame. The one goddamn place_ …

The start of a coughing fit cut off her thoughts; her lungs felt like they were on fire. Someone came to her aid, but she jerked back when one of the cops grabbed her arm and tried to pull her away from the glass. She could see his mouth moving, but the only thing she could hear was an incessant ringing in her ears; even her own voice seemed muted in comparison to that horrid sound that rapidly drove her up the wall.

 

**-5-**

The telltale urgent music and the deep voice announcing a _Special Report_ caught his attention. Troy glanced up at the radio when the music stopped only to be replaced by a frantic reporter's voice. The woman's attempt to sound calm faltered.

_"The damage is said to be extensive, though we can't confirm that for certain yet. Nor have the authorities released information about any casualties or injuries. Many victims have been evacuated to Stilwater Memorial and St. Joseph's Mercy._

_The bomb detonated in a highly populated downtown area, damaging several buildings. We will keep you informed as developments unfold."_

His phone screeched and broke through the newscast. Troy did not even need to see the name to know who it was. _Fucking Johnny_ , he thought as he dug the device out and answered the call.

"Tell me this was not your guys," Markovson groaned.

"You really think the Saints could put together something like this?" Troy asked with an air of the disbelief he felt. Though what he could not believe was that Johnny had managed to pull it off.

His handler did not answer him.

"What was the target?" Troy breathed, pressing his head back against the headrest.

"They're not sure. There were several buildings damaged. But the two that took the brunt of it were King's record company and another that housed the corporate headquarters for a major manufacturer that's been targeted by environmental activists for the past several years."

"Any leads?"

"None. No one has taken responsibility. We don't even have an accurate body count yet," Markovson griped. "Hell, injured are still trickling into the hospitals."

Troy could hear the constant ringing of phones in the background, yelling, and other rackets. The detective's bureau sounded like it was in an uproar, which was not the least bit surprising. "I'll keep my ear to the ground," the undercover officer replied.

"Do that. This seems a little too organized for that crew, but I had to ask."

"I know." That piece of information relieved him immensely.

"See if you might not be able to put some feelers out for folks that could supply something like this," the detective requested.

"What was used?"

"The bomb guys are suspecting something improvised. But so far witness statements aren't much help, though some witnesses remember seeing a limo in the area. Of course that could just be someone arriving or leaving just about anywhere in that block." Markovson's sigh bespoke his frustration.

"Yeah. That's rather generic," Bradshaw agreed. The call waiting beeped in Troy's ear. With a glance at the incoming information-- _Restricted_ \--he let it ring through, since it was not someone he knew. "Anything else you need me to do on my end?"

"Just keep us in the loop. And if you hear anything, let us know."

"Like always."

"Good," Markovson started. "Good. Keep your head down, man."

"Thanks, Alan. I will." Troy killed the line and dropped the phone in the passenger seat. He rubbed the back of his hand under his chin as he steered toward the church. His mind flooded with a mix of questions and disbelief. A part of him wanted to believe the bomb to be the work of some ecological fundamentalist group trying to make gains against some evil polluters. Then again, he knew that as dangerous as some of those groups could be, they usually were careful enough to target a company's holdings. A busy street, mid-morning, littered with people--that was not the typical MO for those types of groups.

When he turned the radio back up to drown out his thoughts, that same reporter's voice greeted him, but this time it was cracking a bit more, showing the strain.

_"That's right folks. It has just been confirmed that local celebrity Aisha was among those killed in the blast downtown this morning. She was slated to wrap up the work on her most recent album. This tragedy has not only robbed the city of its sense of security, but it has stolen one of Stilwater's brightest treasures. This young woman grew up on the streets of Shivington, sang in her local church choir--to this day, and gave much of her money and time to working with children all over Stilwater. She was an artist, and a humanitarian. Her tragic passing will be mourned by the entire city."_

He did not bother turning the radio off. After half a block, Troy pulled into a spot in front of the church and cut the engine. Anger percolated under the surface and his blood was near boiling by the time he entered the church. His mood must have been obvious because no one stopped him as he marched through the nave and down the hall. He could hear Julius' raised tones in the hall, but they did little to assuage Bradshaw.

When he entered the boss' office, everything went silent for a beat until the heavy oak door slammed home. Little, Gat, and Jackson all looked pissed, which was not what he expected to find. Two rather panicky-looking young men sat facing the large desk and the boss. Neither of them moved; they remained perfectly still, barely even breathing as they stared wide-eyed at the boss who lit into them again.

Troy crossed the room and leaned toward Johnny. "What the hell is going on?"

"They dropped the ball," he growled lowly. Troy felt the tension coming off the other man in waves while his own jaw flexed in response to the feeling all around him.

"Want to be more specific?"

Johnny turned his head, meeting Bradshaw's gaze over the rims of the shades he never seemed to be without. "They were supposed to pick up the driver. Instead they left her high and dry."

"The fuck?" Troy blurted.

Everything stopped again. Julius stared at his second for a long moment then turned his attention back to the pair. "Get the fuck out!" When the door closed again, the conversation renewed as the boss turned his ire on Gat. "Why'd you have them so far out?"

"Your guy assured me--" Johnny started, only to be cut off.

"You sent that girl in there on your own goddamn vendetta," Julius barked at Gat before turning his gaze on Troy. "There is a reason I wanted you on this. No history."

Bradshaw did not respond though his chest tightened sharply. He had a sneaking suspicion that he knew precisely who _that girl_ was. He remembered Johnny questioning him about her, and then Furia mentioning she might be working with Gat--it ramped up the tension in Troy's back and shoulders. He clamped his mouth shut tight, his jaw flexing painfully as he stared at Julius. Little did not want any kind of reply to the accusation; he was pissed and needed to yell. It was just his way. The three of them knew that.

"Has anyone heard from her?" This question wasn't rhetorical.

"Not that I know of," Johnny grumbled.

Julius sank into his chair and stared at the three of them over his steepled fingertips. "Get in touch with Memo and see if he's heard from her," Little said, pointing at Johnny. "And you two get word out to anyone we have in the hospitals and clinics. As soon as she pops up, I want to know. Go! Now!" Jules yelled. "Today!"

As they exited the office, Troy caught Gat's elbow and pulled the other man into his office. "What the hell happened?"

"It all played out perfectly. Pick up, the transport, Aisha, and--"

"Then where the hell is Furia?" Troy interrupted.

Johnny shook his head. "Dumb and Dumber got spooked by the sirens. They bailed on her."

"Goddamnit Johnny. You just couldn't let this personal shit go."

"This wasn't personal." He took a step and loomed over Troy, well as much as the two-inch height difference allowed for. Bradshaw did not back down, meeting Gat's gaze with defiance; Troy refused to flinch. Johnny took a quick breath and said, "It was for Aisha. Furia agreed to it. She knew what she was getting into. And if I thought I could get anywhere near that place I'd be down there myself looking for her. I don't turn my back on people."

Troy did not know why that explanation seemed to steal his ire, but it did. His concern, however, was a whole different matter. It seemed he had allowed himself to get just attached enough for it to affect him.

The heavy knock on the door interrupted the conversation and Bradshaw's musing. "In!" the pair of them yelled in unison, each taking a step back out of the other man's space.

Memo poked his head in. "Dex said you were looking for me." For a second his attention turned to Johnny. "Sorry man, we just heard over the radio."

Gat just waved a dismissive hand at him. Troy took a step toward the imposing man. "Listen. Don't read anything into this. But have you heard from your sister?"

"My sister?" Memo asked, his brow furrowing deeply. "She texted me this morning saying she'd have to show me her new ride this afternoon because … something came up." The man said those last three words very slowly as if the realization just hit him. "Why?"

Troy stepped between Gat and Memo, trying to keep the brother's attention. "She should be fine. But she was running something downtown and missed her meet."

"The phone lines are crap right now," Gat added. "And no one's been able to get a call out to her. We were wondering if she called you."

"She was running for you," Memo growled at Johnny. He was probably one of the only guys stupid and strong enough to try and square off with Gat. "She said as much. If something happened to her--!"

Troy managed to halt Memo's forward momentum. "Come on Guillermo," he said in a soothing voice. "This is not what you want to do right now. At least not with him."

"I swear on my sainted mother's grave, Johnny!"

"Gat, out!" Troy barked before the other lieutenant could make it worse. The smallest of the three men managed to keep the largest from barging through him. When the door slammed, Bradshaw loosed Memo's shirt, flattening out his shirt. "Park it. It's not Gat's fault," Troy said, knowing at best it was only a partial truth. Johnny was certainly to blame if something happened, but the fault did not lie directly or solely with him--at least if you looked at each individual piece of the plan, or so Bradshaw told himself. "Dex and I are calling people we know in emergency and urgent care. And you're going to help me, so I can keep an eye on you."

Memo growled and looked away.

"You all right?"

The younger man looked over up at him after a few defiant moments. His gaze shone in a way that told Troy the answer. He reached over and squeezed the larger man's shoulder.

"What name do you think she'd use if they took her to the hospital?" the lieutenant asked.

"Jane Doe," Memo muttered, blinking rather quickly.

A smile bloomed on both men's faces as they laughed lightly. "Really?"

"Sip. Knowing her she would probably assume the cops would want to talk to everyone. So she would just go with Jane Doe or Mary Smith or something completely bland and untraceable. That's what she's always done. She's even got ID with some of those generic white bread names. I just always thought she found it amusing, you know?" Memo shrugged. "There's no mistaking my sister for anything but Latina, then she hands over an ID at a traffic stop that says 'Mary Smith' and you see the berry's brain just stall. Furia always does shit like that though. She likes to keep people on edge."

Troy ignored the rather tame pejorative and just grinned. "Come on. Let's see if we can't get some of these calls out."

Neither of them were any less worried, though there seemed to be a little less tension in the air. Troy pulled out his book and scrawled a few names and numbers on a pad in hopes that it might distract Memo for a time. If he was lucky, it would keep the formidable man occupied until they discovered something. He tried to use this to distract himself from wondering when they would hear from Furia. Or if …

Every time his mind spun that direction he tried to divert it back to the task at hand. It managed to work most of the time, though there were moments when his thoughts went places he really did not want them to go. Troy also knew he was not the only one whose nerves were fraying--Julius, Gat, Memo, and Furia's friends were all on edge. At one point, when ducking out to grab a bite to eat he caught a news broadcast, which turned out to be the worst possible choice in that moment. Images of the devastation and the wounded burned into his mind. It left his imagination with too much ammunition to fire at him when a quiet moment arose; it twisted his concern, which worsened the longer they went without word from Furia.

\---

[i] Kaow Pad Sub Pa Rod: A pineapple and shrimp jasmine fried rice with cashews, green onions, raisins and cilantro. It also has tomatoes, baby corn, yellow onion, and scrambled egg.


	29. Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the bombing, Furia struggles with not only the physical aftermath of the explosion but the psychological toll as well—her brother’s blatant concern, Troy’s unspoken worry, and even Johnny’s consideration all put her in an interesting state of mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who enjoys this series enough to let me know and keep reading despite the long hiatus. As some of you know I had some real-life issues crop up that kind of interfered with my writing ability. Thankfully, some of these problems have evened out a little though they’re not entirely relieved. I do hope to be able to update more often, but I make no promises as to a schedule. But thank you all for reading, and continuing to do so. I really do appreciate it. And a million thanks to Chyrstis for betaing, again.

**29: Trapped**

**-1-**

Furia always hated that low persistent buzz from the light fixtures overhead, but with the noise in her own head, it threatened to drive her mad. Rubbing her ears with the heels of her palms, she reminded herself the annoying sound was not one which the lights generated. The doctor said it could take hours or weeks for the ringing to stop. After all, it had only been a handful of hours since the explosion and the sound was already driving her batty.

Of course, still sitting in the emergency room did nothing to help her mood or her sanity. The stink—a nauseating mix of blood and sanitizers along with something that was just this side of burning—swirled in the cool air. Her arm felt oddly cold, which the nurse blamed on the saline drip, drip, dripping into her vein at a steady rate. After her fourth escape attempt had been thwarted and the IV put back in a second time, Furia resolved to give the doctor another hour to release her or she was going to make a scene.

Furia hated hospitals. She never liked them, really. Given that just about every time she had been in or near one, someone died—her mother, her grandparents, a cousin, and her childhood best friend. For her, hospitals symbolized the welcome mat of death. Thusly, from the moment of her arrival, her mindset to making a hasty escape, against medical advice——that part made her giggle at the time. The EMTs and that damned cop halted her first attempt. Then came a polite nurse with impeccable timing and a considerate smile. The third time around, Furia bumped headlong into her doctor as she tried to slip into the hallway. The most recent run-in, with the cop again, just amped up Furia’s anxiety. For some reason, he took it as his personal mission to keep her on the gurney. He milled around, peeking in on her on occasion, to make sure she had not vanished. She truly had hoped that she might be able to just blend into the ruckus in the emergency room if it came to that.

"Not a fan of hospitals?" the officer asked as he stepped through the curtain and set a small paper cup on the table near her bedside.

Though she could not hear him well over the tinnitus, she read his lips well enough to know what he had asked. Even so she did not answer him immediately.

“Asked the nurse. She said you could eat if you wanted. And most everyone likes hot chocolate, it’s a less contentious beverage option than coffee or tea.” He smiled at her, the wrong kind of smile, she thought, as he nodded at the cup, an encouraging little gesture like an invitation.

She watched him, trying to figure out what the hell he was thinking, but then she realized that for all he knew she was some secretary with bad timing. He had no idea who she was, or the things she had done—that day or any other. The thought tugged at the corner of her mouth and prompted the officer to smile back, a coy boyish grin. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to read the name on the plate above his pocket.

“Ridley,” he told her a little stiffly, then his posture shifted. His chin dropped and the lines around his eyes softened. “You can just call me Mitch.”

Furia licked her lips, pressing them together hard in an effort not to laugh at the situation. Instead, she picked up the cup and lifted it in his direction, thanking him in too loud a voice, which prompted him to laugh and blush. That broke her resolve, wrenching a laugh out of her. “A little too loud?” she asked, hoping this time her question came out quieter.

“Just a tad.” He held up pinched fingers with a smile and a sweet rosiness clung to his cheeks.

“Yeah well. Not really completely my fault.” Her empty hand gestured toward her ear.

“You’re fine now.”

“Except I can’t even hear myself over the ringing.”

“Bad?”

“Depends on the moment,” Furia admitted, which she hated to do. Sadly, the ringing worsened with the quiet, so the voice actually helped ease the incessant sound inside her head though she could not completely make out the sounds of voices over it yet. She certainly could not distinguish between them. To her, the nurse, the doctor, and the flirty cop all sounded like Charlie Brown’s grade school teacher—a drone with some familiar syllables, but virtually indistinguishable. That, among other reasons, was why she was still stuck in that bed in the ER and why she found herself trapped there by the officer who had let her use his phone.

“So why don’t you like hospitals?” he inquired over the edge of his cup.

"Too many sick people," Furia replied finally. Even her own voice seemed muffled. It frustrated her more than she could have imagined.

The officer chuckled. "Yeah. That tends to be the case."

Furia only caught part of that. "You know, I still can't really hear you."

He grinned. "That's probably for the best."

She really tried not to laugh, but she could not help but wonder what would prompt the statement. “So they sent you to be my warden? Keep me in line?”

“After your attempts, I think you’re lucky they haven’t strapped you down.”

“That wouldn’t go quite as well as they’d like,” she muttered into the paper cup.

“I have no doubt.”

The cop, smiling way too widely, proved diverting, at first. Now it was just making her uncomfortable. Furia rubbed at the patch of cold on her forearm and started hoping the doctor might pop up and free her.

 

**-2-**

Enough people had come and gone through the church that Furia’s absence became a new topic of gossip and speculation. The freer people’s tongues wagged the more likely they would get decked. Troy already had to peel Memo off Thundercat once, but even that did not deter people in their worry and stupidity. So with a mix of sympathy and a desire to preserve his own sanity, Bradshaw practically dragged Furia’s imposing younger brother out of the church.

“I’d rather not leave,” Memo said, stopping halfway down the steps.

“Can you swear you’re not going to pounce on anyone else?”

The larger man just glared at him. “He deserved it.”

“Yeah, he did. Doesn’t mean you can break his jaw.” Troy saw a hint of resignation in the other man. “Shall we?”

“Where are we going?”

“We can grab a bite. Or I can take you home.”

“Nah. I’m not going home till I know,” Memo argued. “One way or the other.”

“Then where are we going.”

“Furia’s.”

“You got a key?”

The big man shook his head. “Simón.[i]”

“Come again?”

“Yeah,” Memo explained, pulling out his key ring. “I got one.”

Troy nodded slowly, then thrust his chin toward the black muscle car. “Get in.”

On the way, the pair detoured and grabbed a few plates from Poppy’s. Memo insisted on getting something for his sister; Troy could not blame him. Even he was holding out a dim hope that the reason they had not heard from her was a fluke of busy phone lines and screwed up traffic. They entered her fifth-floor walk up quickly; Memo headed straight for the kitchen, unpacking the bag and checking each box.

Troy got smacked right in the face with the precise reason he had discouraged the younger man from ordering the extra plate. Memo stared at the box containing the enchilada plate, when he asked, “You think she’s okay?”

His voice had lost that usual hard edge that made people jump back, in fact, he sounded suddenly several years younger, like the worried little brother he was. Troy felt bad for him and found himself wondering what might happen if it turned out to be more than just bad driving and poor telecommunications infrastructure.

“You know her better than me, man.” When the chocolate brown eyes rose to his, Troy regretted that answer. “From what I’ve seen, your sister’s tough as hell. It would take a lot to put her down.”

“Like a bomb that would blow the glass out of every window for a city block?”

“Memo, she’s probably just trapped on the other side of town, or maybe in one of the emergency rooms. The news has been saying they are total madhouses.”

“Or—”

Troy slammed his hand on the counter, forcing the other man to snap straight. “We left the church to get away from this kind of talk.”

Memo stared at the other man then nodded. After a moment, his shoulders squared again and his voice regained that ominous note. “You’re right. Gracias, carnal. You want a beer?”

“Sure.”

The distraction managed to go well until Memo turned on the TV. Furia only had basic cable which meant they were bombarded with the breaking news. Troy tried not to hear the reports, the talk about growing numbers in the body count though he took a little hope from the discussions of the overcrowding in the hospitals and clinics. The twinge of possibility left him restless. It seemed to have the same effect on Memo, who had taken to the task of washing the few dishes in the kitchen sink, like he did not want her to come home to even the slightest hint of mess.

Troy’s heart sank when he caught sight of the cruiser stopping out front. He cast a glance over his shoulder at her brother for a beat. Finding him still distracted with cleaning the pristine kitchen, Troy felt the tightness in his back thicken with tension as he tried not to read too much into the cop’s arrival at the building. He straightened and leaned toward the window as the driver exited first. Then the wisps of black caught on the wind drew his eye to the other door of the cruiser. Breath catching in his throat, Troy peeled back the gauzy sheers covering the window, in order to get a better look. A sensation of relief coursed through him like a rush—the best kind. It made his head spin for a moment before the knots in his shoulders started to untie themselves and just the sight of her set his mind ablaze.

The officer escorted her to the door, trying to guide her by her elbow. Troy watched carefully, ignoring the twitch in his shoulder as the man practically refused to take his jacket back and tried to follow her into the building. Bradshaw knew in that instant his concerns were misplaced; he was overstepping. He was getting too close too fast. _You shouldn_ _’t be here_ , he told himself. The rush of release and the twinge of jealousy, he knew it was all wrong, out of place, even if she had shown interest there was nothing between them that justified his response.Or so the voice in his head repeated.

A burning in his chest, which couldn’t be blamed on the chiles in food. Guilt bound itself around his heart and squeezed, weighting his relief. He turned back toward the room, weighing his options as he watched Memo in the kitchen. Finishing off his beer, he ambled across the room trying not to capture the other man’s notice. _You shouldn_ _’t be here_ , the accusing voice in his head reminded. The beer bottle falling into the trash punctuated the lecturing sentiment echoing in Troy’s head.

 

**-3-**

The last time Memo could remember feeling anything like this he was with his grandmother. That will she come home or won’t she, will she be okay or will she die feeling lingered for months. It had been hard then, but it felt harder now, maybe because the person he could lose was the one he always leaned on. When Abuelita and Yayo passed, Furia had been there for him, for all of them.

He pressed his hands flat on the counter top and screwed his eyes shut tight against the stinging in his eyes. _Sure_ , he had been there, hugged his brothers, held Socorro’s hand, and been strong during the funeral, but he had her. She was the one that held his hand and told him it was okay to be sad, to cry.

Staring at the pale orange sponge in his hand, Memo pushed it over the pristine surface. _What are you even doing? This is probably the cleanest kitchen in Stilwater._ The thought brought a twitch to the corner of his mouth. Furia took after their Abuelita in that—her house was organized and immaculate. Memo pushed the porous tool over the sleek surface of the counter. He always teased Furia about things like this—scrubbing at stains on the counter that did not actually exist. He shook his head, taking deep, slow breaths to keep his welling emotion under control.

The not knowing was worse, he thought. _At least if I knew then I would have to do something. I_ _’d have to figure out how to tell them._ “Dios,” he breathed with the realization that to tell Maximo in person would require an eight-hour drive. _Damnit. I_ _’d have to tell Maxi over the phone._ That made the weight press heavier on him. His brother had been so proud of his acceptance and his scholarship, so had Furia. Memo had overheard them talking on the porch. Maximo’s excited tone sobered just a hint and he told their sister that he worked that hard for her because she had worked so hard for them.

She still was, Memo knew, though he hated every second of it. He did not want her in purple, did not want her anywhere near this life. Double standard or not. His hand worked at the counter’s surface as if he might be able to scrub away the very linoleum. _Maybe if I walk away, she will too_ , he thought. His lips pressed tightly together, he knew that would not happen. Furia was stubborn, she hardly walked away from anything. It was one of the things he admired most about her.

The hollow thunk of the bottle in the trash can startled Memo. He turned and looked over at Troy, almost having forgotten the other man was there. They stared at one another silently for a beat. When the other man reached for his coat, panic flashed through his head. _He_ _’s given up. No. No, no, no. You can’t leave. You can’t leave me here alone. I don’t know what to do. How am I supposed to tell them? I can’t do this. No._

Before he could tell Troy he could not leave, the bolt in the door slid. His eyes darted to the door, then back to the other man. Bradshaw looked calm, almost resigned. It gave Memo the courage to take a step toward the door as it opened. It only took less than an instant for the large man to forget the shorter one now zipping up the thin leather coat he had pulled off the back of the kitchen chair.

“Tati,” Memo breathed, covering the distance in a matter of steps. Only seeing her, not the bandages or bruises or scrapes, he wrapped in a massive hug that lifted her off the ground. Her sharp hiss did not fall on deaf ears, but he just needed to hold onto her—make sure she was real and this was not some grief-conjured illusion.

“Ay, mijo. Go easy,” she said with a laugh.

It was the most beautiful sound he ever heard, or so it seemed at that moment. With the rush of relief, Memo grasped onto a shred of anger. “Why didn’t you call?” he asked, as he set her back on her feet.

“I tried.” The soft smile she gave him helped Memo breathe a little easier. He could not remember being quite that scared, ever. “I used someone else’s phone. Mine’s DOA,” Furia explained and poked Memo in the chest as her voice took on a relaxed, lecturing tone. “Your voicemail is full. And you didn’t answer either.”

Memo followed her gaze when it left his. When she addressed him, Troy looked up in surprise. He did not seem quite as relieved as her brother, but Memo did not expect that his friend, his boss had been as invested in the younger man’s grief.

“I was on a call,” Troy replied slowly as if she accused him of something horrible. “Plus, I didn’t recognize the number.” Troy stared at her, hard, then his gaze broke, flickering toward the door before landing on Memo. "I should … go.” He thumbed toward the door.

“Look, man. Thanks,” Memo injected with a firm amount of sincerity. He offered Troy his hand, which the man shook firmly.

"You're welcome." Troy’s gaze shifted from the large man to his sister. “Glad you’re okay,” he said quietly before slipping out the open door

“Thanks. Me too,” she replied, the cadence of her voice slowing with what sounded like confusion.

The door slapped against the jamb, but Memo did not pay any of that a stitch of attention. He hugged his sister again, a little more gingerly this time. This role was new for Memo. He pulled a page right out of Furia’s playbook the moment she walked in the door. Usually, she was the one waiting to scold, console, or listen, but this time it was his turn. Loosening his embrace, he looked down at her again, this time able to see more than just the embodiment of relief and reprieve. She looked like hell. With considerable care, Memo pulled her hoodie back and pushed her hair away from her face as he cupped her cheeks tenderly so he could inspect her injuries. His attention quickly focused on the neat precise bandage just at her hairline. His eyes moved from the stark white to the developing shades of purple on her cheek and jaw, over the field of small cuts and scrapes.

“Tati? Are you okay? Truly?” he asked, trying to handle her more gently.

She patted his chest, adding a soothing little rub as she smiled at him. Then touched his cheek the way she always did when he was worried or upset, before telling him, “I’m fine. Just a little banged up. A day or two and I’ll be annoying the hell out of you.”

Her laugh didn’t have the effect she intended. His brow crinkled, his lips pressed together in a thin line, and his eyes glistened. _She_ _’s fine_ , he thought over and over again, trying to keep the stinging from worsening. He thought he had lost her. He hated that sensation—feeling abandoned and alone, lost. Even so, he knew it well; he had experienced it a handful times in his life and each time they were both wearing nothing but formal black. Her thumbs brushed his cheeks again as she looked up at him.

“Memito. I’m fine,” she assured. This time she pulled her not-so-little brother into a hug. This time when he squeezed, he didn’t hear the hiss. Memo realized too late that it was only because Furia, once again, was being the strong one for him.

The voice that came from the massive man was so small. “I thought …”

“Lo sé, mijito. I know,” she chanted in a soothing tone as she smoothed her hand down the back of his head. He rested his chin against her shoulder and slowly exhaled as her attempts to comfort had success. Taking his face in her hands, she raised his head and kissed his forehead. “I’m fine.”

“You …” His dark eyes locked on hers. Biting back the sadness, he took a sterner approach. “Your luck’s going to run out. You’re not a cat. You don’t have nine lives. And I—” his eyes dropped and he stared at the floor for a long time before he could meet her gaze again. “I’m selfish. I can’t lose you too. … I can’t be you, Soledad,” he admitted.

Over the past few hours, his unreadiness was the one thing he had figured out. His sister had taken care of him and their siblings as long as he could remember. He overlooked it most of his life, because it was just how things were, but recently he started to really see it for the first time. She sang them all to sleep more times than he could count, helped them with homework, she had been the one to pay sports and activity fees; she was their rock to stand on and their soft place to land.

Memo slipped out of her embrace and dropped onto her rickety sofa, which squeaked under his heavy weight. His meaty hands cradled his face. Furia gave him a moment, which Guillermo would be hard pressed to admit he needed. It did not help as much as he thought it might. He felt like a kid, but she was there, so it was safe to just let go of what he spent so much time and energy holding back that day. Furia’s soft steps closed the distance; The coffee table squeaked when she sat on the edge of it. Her warm hands wrapped his up and Memo blinked at them. He never noticed how delicate they were—long thin fingers and delicate wrists. Lowering his head, he pressed a kiss to an almost V-shaped scar on the knuckle of her middle finger; a scar she got dragging his ass out of trouble, he recalled. The other cuts, scrapes, and contusions were new.

Silence followed a kiss to the crown of his head. Furia just rested her head against his shoulder without a word. Her thumbs swept over his hands while she hummed that song their mother always sang to them, when she had the strength to. More often than not, he heard it from his sister’s lips than his mother’s.

He turned her hands over in his, examining them. He knew from her face and her hands, that she had caught a bad stroke Downtown. Part of his brain tried to busy itself with calculating just how many more gashes, bruises, and other injuries were hidden under the hoodie she wore, which was zipped all the way to the neck. He wrapped her hand in both of his and pressed a kiss to the top of it near the wrist before he sought out her gaze again.

“I can’t take care of us like you do,” he admitted. She always tried to tell him he was strong enough, but he knew now he was not. He could not do what she did. His size and strength did not matter in this, he had discovered, he could not be the strong one, even if that had always been his go-to description.

“Memo. You’re a great big brother. Ask the twins, or Maxi.”

“Maxi’s at school and Emilio and Enrique are going to graduate soon. Even so, I don’t think I could get them through losing you. Especially Gabriel and Socorro—“

“Our sister likes you much better than me.”

Memo huffed a strained little laugh. He knew Furia was right, and he knew how much Socorro’s venom hurt their sister, too. Despite the way Socorro acted and the things she said, Memo knew she still loved Furia, she was just hurting and wanted it that way; though that was something the oldest son could not figure out. “Maybe, but you practically raised Gabe. You were always there for him. For me,” he said, his voice wavering. Furia brushed her fingers over his forehead and curled around his ear. When he looked back up at her, she gave him the _you can do it_ smile she always had ready for him. “I haven’t felt lost like this since Papa.”

“I’m sorry, Memo. I tried to call,” she reminded him, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Ever since they were children, Furia made sure to show that he could count on her. Even when he did not want her there, Furia always managed to be there. The last several hours tortured him, the whispers prompted by the news reports. Even a few that suggested she would not make it out of downtown alive.

For months, Memo had been trying to convince her he was grown. He huffed a laugh and shook his head at himself. _Grown ass man_ , that was the phrase he used once. _Grown ass man skulking around his sister_ _’s apartment begging God and anything else he could think of not to take her too._ He could not even work up the nerve to answer his cell, the one time his phone had rung afraid it would be _the call_. Tipping his cheek into her touch reminded Memo that he was her baby brother still.

“I’m glad you were here,” she told him, relief tinging her tone.

Memo squeezed her hand, tight, tighter than was probably comfortable. But he needed that physical connection to her right now. He pressed her fingers to his lips, another thankful kiss. When he spoke she would surely hear the emotion cracking his voice. “I needed to feel close to you.” He raised his eyes again. “I knew I’d have to tell them all. I don’t know how you’ve done it, then or now.” _I thought maybe I_ _’d be able to figure it out easier here._

Her hand tightened in her brother’s firm grip. After a moment, he let go of her hand and darted forward. Laying across her legs, he wrapped his arms around her, just like after she told him about Mama. Furia did not say a word this time either. She started singing softly again, her hand threading through his hair as the other patted his back.

“I want you to stop,” he mumbled, as darkness crept through the room with the setting of sun outside the window across the room.

“I know,” she told him. This was not the first time they had this conversation, from either side.

“But you’re not going to.” There was not a hint of inquiry in his tone, just a note of irritation.

“No.”

“Why?” It came out as something close to a childish whine.

“This feels like what I need to do right now,” she said. Her hand moving over his back gently.

“Blowing up buildings and almost dying in the process,” he growled, sitting back on his heels and glaring at her.

Furia canted her head to the side slightly and gave him a look he knew too well, the one that reminded him that he should check his tone. It was the same look Mama and Abuelita used on all of them when their tongues sharpened. Instinctively, he shrank back a bit, softening his gaze.

“I did that because of who asked me to take it on and why. There are reasons behind it you don’t know.”

“Well I’m sure Johnny had stellar reasons for fucking up five city blocks,” he replied in a cutting tone as he shot to his feet.

Furia remained on the coffee table. She crossed her legs and planted one elbow on her knee to rest her chin in her hands as she watched her brother pace. The deep scowl on his face a mask.

“Can’t I be worried about you?” he charged.

“Certainly. I worry about you every time I hear you’re working some angle for Troy or Dex. It’s natural. But I’m not going to go back to cocktailing and bar tending because you’re worried I might break a nail.”

Memo scoffed at her. His jaw working wordlessly for a moment. _Break a nail? Break a nail!_ “You could have died today,” he fired back, his fear and pain boiling over into a rage.

Furia was on her feet and in his face in a moment. “I could have died walking home from one of the three jobs I was working months ago. I could have died in high school, more than once. I could die walking down the street in this godforsaken city. So could you. Or the twins. Socorro or Gabe.”

He stared at her silently, defiance in his stance and his gaze.

“I’d be dead already, if not for Troy and Julius. Walking home down the wrong street, the VKs and the Rollerz started something with each other. The Carnales pulled up and just started shooting. I was looking down the barrel of a gun that night and if he weren’t a chatty bastard I would have died in a scuzzy alley about thirteen blocks from here,” she said in a stoic tone that felt too calm even for her. “Troy shot the guy. He and Julius helped me out and gave me a chance to do something about it. Plus, I make better money doing this than I could’ve at the bar, even with my clothes off.”

Memo winced. She had not told him the story in that much detail before.

“I should have died that night. I was an inch from it. Today, that was nothing. Sure, I got a little scuffed up, but it wasn’t worse.”

Memo shook his head; he was not certain he bought it. One thing he had learned was that Furia could and would downplay things to keep he or his siblings from worrying, then she would carry most of the burden herself to keep from troubling them too. “It did not feel like that to me.”

“Then turn your phone on next time and you’ll be my first call … again,” she assured him. “But I’m not walking away.”

There was acquiescence in his gaze, not acceptance, but he could understand her determination—it mirrored his own. He knew she was telling the truth. Furia had no intention of walking away, not while she thought she was doing something right. He seemed to understand it. After all, Julius sold him on the same speech, too. He wanted Gabe and the twins to be able to walk to the bus stop without getting harassed, without the chance that they might get caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, like their sister had. He wanted Socorro to be able to go to school in the suburbs without getting catcalled by those goddamn smurfs with souped-up cars. She understood why Memo joined, after having met Julius Little.

“Are you hungry, mijo?”

Memo stared at her for a moment then shook his head. “No. Troy and I stopped at Poppy’s on the way over,” he recalled and darted into the kitchen, yanking open the fridge triumphantly. “I got you your favorite.”

Furia walked over to him and kissed his cheek before turning on the oven. “Well aren’t you just the best little brother ever.”

“Probably not, but I do try from time to time.”

That got them both laughing as he deposited the disposable tin in the warming oven. He made them both glasses of ice and soda, after offering her a drink. Furia declined because of pain medication she had been given at the hospital. The sting returned. He knew how much she hated hospitals and why. To distract himself and her as her food warmed, he asked her about the doctor’s prognosis, which she shared with him.

Memo chose to do for her what he knew she would be doing if their positions were reversed. He babied her. Ran a hot bath and lectured her about taking it easy. While she bathed, he made her tea and found some cookies in her cabinets. Additionally, Guillermo refused to go home, even when she insisted. He could not leave her alone; so, he opted to brave her murderous sofa with the vicious springs rather than go back to his own place.

 

**-4-**

Furia waited for her brother to fall asleep. She understood his concern, she shared it—for both of them. Though it was the first time that his arguments seemed more grounded in genuine solicitude rather than just control or protectiveness. Memo worried about her now like she had been worrying about him and the others for years now. She pulled the crocheted blanket off the back of the sofa and draped it over him, brushing the hair away from his forehead. Watching him sleep, she could still see the boy who always messed around in her things. After their mother died, he constantly followed her; she found it annoying until she told her grandfather as much one evening.

Yayo explained it to her quite simply. They were blood; and family was supposed to be there for one another. After her mother passed, he hammered home the point that when it came down to it she was all they had left. Even though her grandparents, aunts, and uncles would help as much as they could, when push came to shove, she and her siblings were all each of them had left. Her brothers and sister would need her more than ever; they would cling to her more tightly. That rationalization seeped into her gradually through the years. Watching her brother sleep, she could not help but remember the man he looked so much like.

_Yayo was right,_ she knew. _He was right about a lot of things_.

Barefoot, she padded to the kitchen, grabbed the handset from the charger, and passed through into the bathroom, closing both doors before pressing the speed dial.

“Did I wake you?”she whispered.

Johnny did not answer immediately. “Nah. Good to hear your voice.”

“Don’t tell me you were thinking the worst, too.” Furia teased him more easily than her brother. She could see the fear in her brother’s eyes; Memo had been taking that walk down the hallway again, so to speak. Every time the two of them lost someone there was a hallway or a corridor, and the long aisle of a church to walk down. That long stroll allowed them to slip on the mask of strength, to take on the role of the familial stoics.

“It’s been more than half a day. I might have wondered if something happened to you. Though I’ll tell you, this call saved two idiots an ass-beating they’d never forget.”

“Good, since it’s not their ass you should be kicking.”

He just chuckled at her.

“I’m not kidding, Gat,” Furia said in a calm tone. “Your timer was extremely short. I never even got near that parking garage.”

He went dead silent on her again.

“Next time, tell whoever put that thing together to be a little more generous with the countdown, sí?”

“There won’t be a next time.”

Furia smiled and nodded. Her shoulders relaxed as she let out a long quiet exhale of relief. “Even so.”

“You got it. Add an extra five seconds, because the looker with the legs is slow.”

“You are such an asshole.”

Johnny barked a gruff laugh. “I’ve heard this before.”

“Something tells me you’ll hear it again.”

The other end of the line went quiet again. “Are you doing all right?”

She did not expect the concern in his voice. Memo’s, yes. Troy’s, maybe. But not Johnny’s. It struck her dumb. “Bruises, scratches, my ears are still ringing, and my little brother is camped out on my sofa.”

“Sounds like a hell of a party.”

Furia laughed softly, feeling a pang in her chest from more than the bruised ribs. “Oh, … you have no idea.”

“I can imagine,” Johnny said in a quiet guileless tone. “Get some rest. I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“I’m thinking I might take a day, or two,” Furia revealed in a light tone.

“You do that.”

She took a moment uncertain if she should ask or not. “How is she?”

“Safe.”

“That was the point, sí?”

“Yeah. It was. Thank you again.” Johnny’s sober voice sounded tired and a little more relieved.

“I would say anytime. But, no.”

He chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now, go to bed.”

“You, too,” Furia replied with a smile that filled her voice. When she hung up the phone, she stared at it for a moment, debating. In the end she thought back to the way Troy scampered out of her apartment earlier. She did not know what brought on that reaction, but right then she was not sure she wanted to delve into it. Every step seemed to put him off kilter, and now it seemed he was pulling away again. After the day she had, Furia wondered if that might not just be for the best. She set the handset on the edge of the sink and eyed her reflection. It was not as bad as it could have been, but it was not her best look for sure.

As she walked out of the bathroom, into the bedroom, she peeked in on her brother. Memo sprawled over her sofa—one arm blocking his eyes, a leg draped along the back of the sofa. He looked like so young at that moment, almost innocent. Then she closed the French doors which separated her bedroom from the living area then climbed into bed.

The ringing eased when people were talking to her or when she was on the phone. But once everything was quiet again, the incessant sound seemed to get louder, keeping sleep at bay longer than she anticipated. Of course, it was more than just the ringing that kept her up that night. Thoughts raced through her mind along with clips of memories—Maxi’s hesitation before he got on the plane, the ever present scowl her sister Socorro wore around her, the twins gushing about their season performances, Gabe’s glee at her gift and the excitement that brimmed in his eyes when he talked about what he was planning, and Memo’s concern. Then the older memories wandered into her wakeful mind—the weak singing voice of her mother near the end, the way the old songs and lullabies she once sang became more akin to whispers. Furia always had to sing with her so the song would not stop for the younger ones. The way her grandmother always told Furia that she had her father’s eyes and his determination. Her grandfather’s voice reminding her that family always comes first and that Guerreros do whatever it takes for the family.

The ringing distorted all sound but those which sprang from her own head, as she laid there in the near darkness recalling the moment she discovered precisely what her grandfather’s words finally meant. Yayo always said: _we do anything for family_. Up until her grandmother got sick, Furia thought he meant exactly what she had been doing up to that point—helping to take care of the younger ones, keeping the house, and cooking, things of that nature. That turned out to be only a part of what he insinuated in those discussions.

Alejandro Guerrero had worked on the docks since he was fifteen. He labored hard, earned the respect of the neighborhood and provided for his and his son’s families—that made up most of what Furia knew about the most prominent man of her life when she was younger. She was a few months shy of fifteen when she learned different; when she learned why other men nodded at her grandfather when they walked past him on the street. Her grandfather ran a black market smuggling operation, the most lucrative one in Stilwater. His was also the only organization that never seemed to succumb to police intervention, or so he boasted to his granddaughter with the head for numbers one warm spring afternoon.

They both still wore their Sunday best that day as she held onto his arm. Their stroll veered toward the little taco stand near the docks, Muelle Paraíso, and would become her first exercise in terror. After a treat, their walk continued toward the warehouses as he explained the reality of things beneath the calm surface. Yayo became something else that day, Furia still was not sure what. His father had started the _family business_ small, during prohibition, bringing in barrels of alcohol that _fell_ from ships offshore. As her grandfather told it, his father never got greedy. “It’s like swimming in the ocean. You get too deep or swim into the wrong waters, and the current will drag you under. Or you’ll get attacked by the other predators there. But either way, you’ll never resurface.”

It took Furia years for her to really understand what he meant. Laying in her bed—ears ringing, covered in scrapes and bruises, her younger brother sleeping in the other room to watch over her, and other people worried about her—she thought maybe she could be in the wrong waters. For the past several months, she thought her eyes were wide open, that she was entirely aware, but, with the tinnitus keeping her awake, she felt like the current of all this had shifted dramatically and this choice might be the one that would drag her under.

\---

[i] Simón: the equivalent of ‘yeah’.


	30. Sleepless Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night after the explosion downtown was tense across all of Stilwater. Many found themselves unable to sleep for a myriad of reasons, while some found solace, not all were lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincere thanks to Chyrstis and Kakumei who helped make this chapter as strong as it is. They were amazing help getting this from idea to proper chapter. The idea for this chapter spawned from a drabble prompt I was sent in August, by Block-of-Writers, it kind of tumbled like a snowball downhill in a cartoon from “trembling hands” into this idea of looking at different reactions to a powerful event in the storyline of the game that feels like it gets a little glossed over in canon.

** **

**30 Sleepless Night**

**-1-**

Slumber across Stilwater did not come easy for many the night after the explosion downtown . Candles flickered in vigils all over the city. Churches brimmed with people—the faithful and the scared—seeking comfort and solace; despite the low numbers of seriously injured and even fewer casualties, the small blast left a huge impact on Stilwater, one that could not be seen with the naked eye, but could be felt by most of the citizenry. The television coverage also captured a sense of the city’s reaction. Reporters and TV cameras remained along the blast area’s perimeter, which still teemed with police officers, firemen, paramedics, and other investigators. Every television station ran live reports and recorded footage from earlier in the day, both interspersed with first responder interviews and conversations with people who had been in the area at the time of the explosion. Every tidbit of information was passed on to the public as soon as it was received. The city wanted answers, or at least some kind of clarification in the wake of the devastation, even if the only ruins belonged to a gang lord feeding off it.

Aisha, cooped up in a tiny basement flat on the waterfront, was one of the many Stilwater citizens glued to those news reports. Jane Valderamma’s voice filled her tiny, decrepit studio. It echoed in the young woman’s skull with the same effect as the chanting of an angry mob. She wrapped her still shaking hands around a warm cup of tea. Even she was frightened and confused; more than that, she felt guilty, monstrous. Watching the news coverage, only seemed to give her palpable proof that she should feel that way. This was all her fault. There had only been casualties at the record studio, and most of those had been King’s thugs, but the entire city felt the consequences of her actions, all of Stilwater trembled in the aftermath of her selfishness—or so she told herself.

“What did you expect?” she asked in a whisper that only she heard. Sitting there alone in the dark, except for the flickering of the screen, she felt stupid. _You should have seen this coming. How could you possibly imagine this was going to turn out well? You should have known better. You should have thought it through._ The taunting thoughts, both right and wrong, made her shrink down into the sofa as if it might swallow her whole and make it all go away. She wanted out, wanted a chance at a life. She chose to give up something she loved, something she wanted her whole life, just to steal back a little control, a scant sense of freedom. _But why didn_ _’t you see this coming?_

That thought echoed in her head as she stared at the screen with aching eyes. The stories, their words, the images—it all affected the singer. Her cheeks burned from the tears cried, not for herself, but for the people out there, the ones sitting on curbs in dust covered business clothes holding their faces in their hands, the mothers who rushed to schools just to hold onto their children, and all the ones who were confused, scared, or no longer felt safe. There were even sobs for the ones lost in the explosion, even if they were King’s men. The city suffered because she wanted a life, because she was a spoiled diva. Days earlier, it felt like the only way out, sitting there—free—the reality of her choice ate at her, leaving her riddled with aching hollow spaces.

Again, her eyes wandered to the burner phone. Johnny’s men had pressed it into her shaking hands before her sequestration in the windowless studio meant to hide her for a few days while things calmed down. Or so had been the plan. The one-room rental, only slightly larger than the average tomb, possessed the same suffocating feeling as might be found in one of the marble facades at the church cemetery. When Aisha rested her head on her knee, her eyes locked on that tiny device—her only real lifeline. She traded the nearly empty tea cup for the flip phone. For a while, she just held it, resisting for several minutes until she the combination of temptation and need grew too strong. Flipping it open, she pressed and held down the number five to trigger the auto-dial.

“Johnny,” she breathed when she heard him mumble something akin to a greeting.

When Johnny heard Aisha’s voice, he cleared his throat and sounded slightly alarmed. He surely knew the Saints in the next room had told her only to call out in an emergency. “Is everything okay?”

“I just needed to hear your voice.”

“You shouldn’t have called.”

“I know.” Her free hand rubbed over her calf, the same way Johnny would caress her leg in more comforting, intimate moments. “I just …”

He breathed out a long sigh, which Aisha wanted to believe was from tiredness rather than exasperation, though in their relationship it would not be the first time she heard the latter. “I know, sweetheart. Turn off the TV and rest.”

“I tried. I just keep seeing all those people running and screaming like in the video they keep looping on the news.”

The groan made her wonder if he had been in bed when she called. “You have to stop watching that stuff.”

“How can I?” she asked, shocked by his withdrawn response. “I did that.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Her jaw dropped. _How can he say that?_ “That is all because I—”

“You didn’t do anything. Blame me if you want to blame someone.” Johnny’s tone was the most matter-of-fact she had ever heard from him.

She sat, staring off into the darkness for a moment, in stunned silence. “Are you okay?”

“I’m tired, Eash,” he replied apologetically, and she believed the truth of his statement.

“Me, too.”

“Then go to sleep,” he told her much more gently. She could hear a subtle hint of a smile in his voice.

“I tried. Like I said, those videos—” Her tone changed and she added, “But I’ll try not to watch so much of it.”

“I know you’re bored, and there’s not much else to do there. It’s only for a few days. Once things die down a little we’ll get you out of there. Then you’ll have your place back. In the meantime, maybe you should just watch a few movies or something.”

“Maybe one of your guys … or you, could bring over something light? You know what I like,” she suggested.

“Eash, you know I can’t. The news already broke. I had to threaten to stab a reporter just to get into the apartment tonight. They’ll be watching me like a hawk.”

“Johnny, you didn’t?”

“Yeah. I did. It worked. They backed the hell off,” he explained through a yawn. “Oh, and Furia’s okay. Got a little banged up, but she’s home.”

“Thank God,” Aisha breathed, feeling the rare traces of relief. “How banged up?”

“Don’t know. She didn’t give me the medical report, just basically told me to lose her number for a few days.”

Aisha smiled, until she realized her friend had been downtown in all the insanity, too. “That’s probably for the best.”

“Look, get some sleep. If I can swing by, I will. But I won’t be able to stay. Not for awhile. And I’m not promising that I’ll be able to come at all, okay? Just that I’ll try.”

“Okay.” Aisha twisted her index finger in the hem of her jogging pants. “I love you, Johnny.”

“Me too, Eash. G’night.”

“Night. Sleep tight,” Aisha said before the line went dead.

She stared at the phone for a moment before setting it back on the table. Once again it was just her and the television. She slumped against the sofa, her eyes darting around the sparse room before returning to the current single source of light.

“Five days,” she mumbled to herself. That’s how long she would be cooped up in there. The small studio had no windows—mainly so no one could see in, for her safety and anonymity. All so no one would know she was there. That had been her idea, which she already regretted and it had only been a handful of hours. By the same token, Aisha could not see out. The only way she would know the time of day would be by the TV or that phone. The tone in which Johnny told her he would _try_ to come by, made her wonder if it was even true.

Doubt crept over her, some of it filling those empty spots which guilt hollowed out. She started to wonder if her plan, or the reasons for it, if any of it would come to fruition. Listening to Jane, her eyes moving over the reporter’s brown football helmet hairdo did not help the feeling pouring over Aisha. The woman on the screen stood on a downtown street corner with emergency personnel passing across the street and into buildings behind her. As Aisha watched the muted footage, her mind ran away with her. _Maybe now that you_ _’re ‘dead’ to the world, Johnny will lose interest, too_. The young woman shook her head in an effort to lodge that vicious thought from her head, then reached for the remote.

“No, don’t think like that. You love him and he loves you,” she told herself. A moment later she unmuted Jane Valderamma. Aisha listened to the reporter, despite Johnny’s caution about watching the news, when she heard her own name come out of the woman’s mouth the channel surfing began. Aisha passed James Armstrong and the new reporter from Channel 26, finally landing on the wildlife station. The stark white of the scene was broken up by the black blotches of penguins waddling through the snow, in her trek through the stations this was the first offering which seemed like it might help her sleep.

The innocent enough subject matter paired well with the narrator’s soothing voice as he spoke over the video of cute black and white Antarctic birds shuffling about; she thought it might be just the balm her exhausted mind needed. Aisha grabbed a pillow and curled up in the center of the lumpy sofa. She tried to pull the blanket over herself, tucking it under her feet to keep them warm. On the screen, a cute little penguin chick poked his head out from under his parent’s belly and chirped. The narrator spoke about the plight of the starving fathers who weathered the winter keeping the eggs, then the chicks warm, and the return of the mother penguins—saying, “Even the injured keep going with the same determination of the rest of the herd,” the narrator explained. There was something comforting in his words, something that spoke to Aisha as his voice worked its magic on her; soon enough, her eyes fluttered as the female penguins returned to their families and sleep finally took her.

 

**-2-**

The gentle white noise of the shower could be heard in the living room. It gave Mikey just the moment he needed to catch up on the news. To blame curiosity for his addiction to the practically non-stop coverage would have been false; his interest in the reports rested firmly in the personal and was buried neck deep in worry about his friend. The TV blared when he pressed the power button on the remote, which nearly caused him to drop it under the coffee table in his awkward attempt to hastily lower the volume. It took a moment to find that perfect volume, the one that would allow him to still hear the water running too. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, as he strained to hear Armstrong’s report on the vigil at a huge church just outside the Row. Peaches nixed the news earlier, saying she had heard more than enough about “all of that” at the church. She insisted she just wanted to go home, curl up, and try to get a little rest.

Watching Memo bristle at some people’s comments and witnessing the big guy’s growing stress over Furia did nothing to improve his girlfriend’s mood. It also lowered her opinion of the information the news outlets offered the public. But while she was in the shower, the young man had free reign over the remote, even if they were at her place, which was slowly becoming theirs.

Earlier, outside the church, he huddled over some of the others, squinting at the small screens of their phones as they streamed whatever news reports they could get. There, like in the apartment, Mikey watched out of concern, scanning every shape in the background for any hint of familiarity, in the hopes he might catch a glimpse of his friend among the exhausted faces used as a backdrop for the news report. Once they got home, he continued the pattern until Peaches shut it off. Most of the gang found out rather quickly that their number was short one, and Memo’s irritation telegraphed it like a lighthouse on a calm night.

“I can’t watch this anymore,” she had told him a few minutes after they returned to her place. Her reaction worried him as much as Furia’s status. He knew Peaches was taking it as hard as some of the rest of the Saints. Mikey made the two of them some soup, then convinced her a hot shower might help.

Then he went back to his own vigil. Tapping the remote against his knuckles, his eyes searched the screen as he only gave a modicum of his attention to the reporter’s words. His phone shivered against the coffee table, but did not garner his full attention until he had it in hand. When he looked down at it finally, the words pushed the growing weight off his shoulders.

_Furia_ _’s back. Banged up. With Memo._

He leaned back on the sofa with a deep sigh and read Troy’s text two more times to be sure. Mikey still wanted to know what was going on. While the text answered every question he would have asked, it was vague, at best, which left him with a building desire to contact his friend. He skimmed through his contacts and pulled up Furia’s information, weighing the decision for a moment: _should he call?_

Mikey’s concentration went to weighing that answer. While he struggled to decide what to do, the TV shut off without warning. Peaches stood next to it in her robe, bits of her still glistening from the water as her gaze moved from the television to him. Her brows drew together when he met her eyes.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Uh,” he started, shifting on the sofa and feeling a little guilty about having missed the shower going off. “Troy texted. Furia’s home.”

Peaches inhaled deeply, her shoulders rising, then dropping into a much more relaxed posture. She had been just as worried as he. “That’s good news.”

“For sure,” he agreed, blinking at her as he tossed his phone from one hand to the other. “Do you think I should call?”

“What did Troy say?” she asked as she strode across the room to join him. He held out his phone and showed her the message. “No way. Not if Memo’s there. He’s probably being a grumpy bear right now.”

“You might be right,” Mikey agreed, his eyebrows flashing upward for a moment. He and Memo chatted more than once about his association with Furia. “Memo can get tetchy about … things.”

“Especially his sister,” Peaches added, lowering herself down next to him onto the sofa. She ruffled her hair with a towel.

Of course, she would know about that. She and Furia were close. Mikey and Furia discussed Memo’s overprotective streak a few times, and the way he wielded it like a club. On some level, Mikey could understand it. In fact, he had gone with his cousins to warn some sketchy fella away from their sister more than once. And he would have done the same for his own sister. “I can’t say I blame him.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh really?”

“Well, I mean he’s just trying to watch out for her.”

“He’s trying to control her life.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Peaches’ hands stopped, still gripping the ends of her hair with the towel. She looked at him with disapproval.

“He doesn’t want her with some guy who’s just a low life thug.” Mikey draped an arm over the back of the sofa, his free hand resting on her knee. “I mean, I wouldn’t want my sister in this situation either.”

Her hands dropped into her lap as her jaw fell. She stared at him.

Mikey knew he might be about to catch hell, but he went ahead and gave her his honest opinion. “Of course, I also kind of agree with his approach to Marco.”

His girlfriend nodded once. The way her lips pursed together told Mikey he might have gone too far, even if he knew he had said the wrong thing long before that.

“So,” she crooned, holding onto the vowel. “This life. And guys like you aren’t good enough for your sister, but they’re good enough for me?”

Mikey pulled her onto his lap before she could get to her feet. “Not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“Just that I understand trying to take care of your siblings … or people you care about,” he added, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “And guys like me are nowhere near good enough for you.”

It took a moment, but Peaches smiled at him. Then she pushed her hands through his short hair. “You’re too good for me,” she said before she kissed him softly.

Mikey always argued with her when she said things like that. He felt like the lucky one, the one out of his league. But rather than travel down that path again, he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her to keep her close. “I love you, Peggy Sue,” he whispered. Peaches groaned and started to pull away. It was how she usually responded when he called her that, but Mikey kept her close. “No sneaking away.”

“You’re so lucky you have that cute country boy accent,” she teased, and curled her fingers around his ears, combing his hair with her nails.

He dipped his head left toward her touch. “Yeah, well I have to have some redeeming qualities.”

Peaches shook her head at him. “I love you, Mikey. I really do.”

There was sadness in the way she made that familiar declaration this time around. He did not know how to place it or whether he should respond differently to it. It made him wonder where the feeling came from, but he did not voice his inquiry. Instead, he kissed her again, held her tight, and tried to show her through action precisely how much he cared about her.

Their kisses became heated, and soon they retreated to the bedroom. Things cooled off once they were in bed. Peaches curled up against Mikey’s chest and he draped his arms around her, while he stared out the window. Beyond the sheer covering the casement, the moon hung huge and orange in the sky. Back home they would have called it a harvest moon, but he knew it was not that. The color seemed to come from the haze of the city, the smog tainting the atmosphere and shading the light of the moon. It felt almost ominous.

Mikey tightened his embrace around his sleeping girlfriend. Everything he told her had been true. He felt lucky to have her in his life, but he also felt he did not deserve her. The events of the day made him appreciate their relationship more, and he could not imagine a sight more beautiful than her sweet sleeping face, framed by unruly strawberry blonde curls. He wanted this, he thought. He wanted her. He smiled when she shifted. Peaches buried her face into his chest with a soft groan, unconsciously placing a little kiss there. Mikey replied by placing one on the crown of her head.

 

**-3-**

Troy found himself sitting in his car after walking out of Furia’s apartment, waiting as if something might happen. He did not know what he was expecting, but he remained there, staring at the window of the room where he had been minutes earlier. Eventually, he left, taking the long way home. There, he spent a little more than an hour on the sofa, halfway listening to Jane Valderamma drone on while he burned through half a pack of cigarettes and the last inch-and-a-half of a bottle of whiskey.

Sadly, none of it helped him sleep. Nothing quelled his nerves, or washed the taste of disappointment from the back of his throat. Nor did it clear away Furia’s confused look when he hurried out of her apartment with barely a word. Bradshaw lay in bed, staring at the ceiling while his gut churned—the burn creeping into his chest. A thin sliver of light from a broken mini-blind slat moved across the ceiling, slipping this way and that as the ceiling fan churned the air in the room.  He blamed his sleeplessness on the city’s unusual stillness, rather than the day spent worrying about Furia without being able to adequately show it.  He certainly did not blame it on the fact that his concern had not been alleviated when he saw her again in relative good health.

His fingers pressed against his forehead, tracing his hairline back and forth. The line cast by the street lamps below waved slowly over the apartment’s rippling popcorn ceiling. That moment between zipping up his coat and closing the door of Furia’s apartment played through his head on repeat. The surprising revelation that she called him after the explosion, and the guilty realization that he let it ring through to voicemail, came back with force. Even that did not hit him as hard as the furrow in her brow and the wondering stare she gave him as he left. He still could not believe that all he said to her in that moment was to call Johnny. Pushing his hand through his hair, he shook his head at what he saw as his complete lack of action.

“You should have said something,” he whispered in the darkness, voicing the thought plaguing him.

Then he pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew it had been the wrong time and the wrong place. With Memo right there—Mr. ‘You-Touch-My-Sister-I’ll-Break-Your-Arm-Off-And-Beat-You-With-It’—it would have gone worse than it did. _No, holding her face in your hands and studying every scratch while pestering her about what happened, what the doctor said, and how she was truly feeling_ _… that would not have flown. Besides, you’re nothing to her. One date, a few kisses, and some not-so-innocent flirting does not a connection make._ Or so he told himself in an effort to justify his actions. Convincing himself that skirting out the door as quickly as possible was the far superior option to broadcasting his worry or concern seemed far easier in theory than it proved to be in action.

“It was for the best,” he told the darkness. Better to retreat to the cheap apartment, the one he could not call home despite the length of time he had spent there. He returned to everything which reminded him he was caught in limbo. _Maybe purgatory is a better name for it,_ he mused. _Neither saved nor damned, but stuck in between._

The burning in his chest intensified, reminding him he had not taken care of himself during the long day. When he arrived home, he had not needed food, but with the adrenaline rush long over his stomach ached and he felt hollow—a sensation he could not merely blame on a lack of food. Troy pressed his hand below his ribs and sat up with a groan; he always paid dearly for neglecting his body’s basic needs. The pressure of his hand and the change in position helped a little, but the burning continued, reinforced by a dull throb behind his eyes and a pressure circling his head. If he did not know better, he would have said he was hungover.

In the darkness, he fumbled for the pack of cigarettes and lighter he left on the nightstand when he stripped earlier. He tapped the pack on the side of his hand and lit the first cigarette he pulled out.  He watched the fire catch the tobacco, his breath bending the flame which licked at and ignited the white paper. Its brightness made it difficult to focus on anything else beyond that short column of fire. He held it out in front of him, watching the flame dance to the sway of the air moving around the room. The yellow-orange burst bent away as he blew a stream of smoke at it, curving in a smooth yet awkward manner as it fought to reach up.

The comparison felt too close, like the way as much as he tried to bend this way and that, to find a way around his attraction. Like the flame is drawn upward, he found himself repeatedly drawn back toward her. Troy nestled the cigarette between his lips, slapping the cap closed on the Zippo with a resounding, metallic snap. In the mute darkness, Troy let his mind race unchecked as he perched on the edge of the bed, breathing in long, slow, smoky breaths and holding them for a moment before releasing them at the same languid pace. Bradshaw knew too much. He was too close to it all, too close to Johnny and to Aisha. He understood what Johnny aimed for. In some ways, he even agreed with the why of it all, though not the how. That thought rounded him back to her—Furia. She was a thief. A killer. And yet... _Fuck. You_ _’re the one that put the damn gun in her hands._

“You’re a fucking cop,” he yelled at himself, rushing to his feet. In the same hasty movement, the lighter sailed across the room. Troy stared towards where it had landed. The darkness took on shades in his small bedroom as he stood there staring at nothing in particular. Then he took a long drag off his cigarette.

“As if that even matters in this city,” he scoffed with a note of derision. The argument continued in his head. _You_ _’re supposed to be protecting people. Citizens!_ His mind stressed as he started to pace. _Not criminals._

_But, they are citizens, too. Look at Mikey and Furia. Both of them almost wound up dead in the street because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. It_ _’s no goddamn surprise that when Julius laid out his grand plan for civic renewal, good people would stand up and try to take their city back from all this … corruption. Corruption and criminals on all sides—flagged and wearing uniforms, and suits._ Troy pulled down the slats of the mini-blinds right at that pesky break and peeked out at the empty parking lot, which was a rarity for his building.

_They_ _’re not innocent now_ , one side of his mind argued. “I’m not innocent now either,” he muttered. If the city kept track of it, his rap sheet would be longer than most of the Saints. As far as he knew, only Johnny, Dex, and Julius had longer sheets than Troy, but only Troy’s would disappear when this was all over.

“If it ever ends.” Troy took another long drag, then he wandered to the kitchen. Finishing his cigarette before he reached the sink, he doused the butt in water and tossed it in the trash before grabbing a glass to fill. He knew the water would do nothing for the acid churning in his stomach, but it was all he had besides coffee, which would probably make it worse. After downing the entire glass, he leaned on the counter. He knew why he was having this argument with himself again. It was the easier of the topics to tackle, at least to his sleep-deprived and stressed brain.

He looked at the bare kitchen counters while he refilled his glass. Troy decided that perhaps being productive would distract his overactive brain. After turning on the overhead light, he squinted in the brightness as his eyes adjusted, then grabbed his black pocket-sized notebook off the counter. During his childhood, he and his brother developed a code to keep their older sister out of the loop. It worked better now than it had then. It would not do for anyone to just happen on his notebook and read everything; sometimes he did not have time to make separate notes for his multiple purposes. The one time Julius asked him about it, Troy nixed all concern about the practice claiming that he did it so that the book would be useless to anyone but him—claiming neither enemy nor cop could read the information in it easily. Thankfully, he had never really had to test that theory; no one ever showed interest in the book or the notes inside it beyond that single inquiry.

Troy flipped the pages, checking some of his older notes. Then he went to the bedroom closet and dug out a shoe box, which held several filled books. He could easily recall which might hold the information he wanted, but his old notes lacked any solid leads. He leaned against the counter and stared at the box for a moment before concluding that he would have to reach out within the organization to get something for Markovson. He wanted to appease his handler, keep him from going elsewhere for information, Troy told himself remembering the way the other officer had loomed over Furia when she was released hours after her cohorts.

The undercover cop did not have any connections in Stilwater who handled explosives, but he did recall that there were only a handful of guys in town who dealt with them. His knowledge on that subject was heavily based in a combination of hearsay from his briefings at the police department years ago, hints Johnny shared, and whispers here and there. Personally, Troy preferred to steer clear of explosives; he intended to keep all his fingers, plus, in his mind it brought the wrong kind of heat. Even so, he knew there were a few guys in the gang that could actually get someone just about anything, or at least put them in contact with someone who could get it. Therefore, Troy turned to Javier and Paulie; those two Saints knew just about everyone in Stilwater—and everything happening under the surface.

Bradshaw pulled his phone off the charger and sent out a few texts, asking Paulie and Javier if they knew anybody who did stock and trade in explosives. Javier’s quick reply crossed him off of Bradshaw’s list of possible sources. Paulie’s reply was more telling. _That ain_ _’t a line U want to follow thru on right now, cuz._

Troy considered the man’s word of caution, but knew it could not apply. So he texted back. _Still, who would I call if I needed something like that?_

It did not take long for Paulie to reply in several messages. _There_ _’s a foreman with Hughes Construction who does a steady trade. The Chinese have a guy. But he’s small potatoes. And there’s a twitchy fella on the docks missing a finger—he knows some people. Or at least he says he does. U need an intro?_

Troy’s fingers moved slowly as he pecked at the letters and erased a few to correct the typos. _Nope. All this craziness just has me thinking too much._

The Saint’s reply arrived quickly. _I hear that. Always said that_ _’s UR problem. Try not to let UR brain keep U up._

_I_ _’ll try,_ Troy texted back.

He huffed a quiet laugh and dropped his phone on the counter. After scrubbing his hands over his face and through his hair, he slid his notebook towards him to jot down the vague suggestions. More digging would be needed, Troy knew, since Markovson and the P.D. surely wanted more than the nameless possibilities Paulie sent to sate their desire for a neck to hang this charge around.

Checking the messages from Javier and Paulie again brought a temptation he could not dismiss as easily this time around. He tapped Furia’s name, though he was able to keep himself from punching the call button; instead, he tapped on the icon for the messaging program. Even in text, her light tone carried a hint of the playfulness he saw in her smile, when he earned it. The self-criticism began again, first for allowing his interest at all and then for acting on it. His mind traced backward to her teasing him about his coat, the memory reminding him that it had not been the spicy food warming him up during their blustery picnic a few days prior.

Remembering that afternoon—the sweetness in her smile, her bright laugh, the way she looked at him when she looped her scarf around his neck. Troy forced himself to turn off the phone and drop it on the counter. Then he pressed his knuckles against the linoleum. After a moment, he smacked his open hand down, hard enough to make his palm sting.

“Christ, you’re an idiot.”


	31. Through the Wringer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still suffering from tinnitus, Furia tries to occupy the days between the explosion and the funeral with anything other than Troy Bradshaw or the Saints.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the readers of this series, for their patience, encouragement, and comments. I appreciate it greatly.

 

**31 Through the Wringer**

**-1-**

Due to the intense news coverage, Furia shunned televisions, radios, and anywhere else saturated by media for the first few days following the explosion. She also avoided the church, the Saints, Troy Bradshaw, and everyone other than her brother, though that was mostly due to his persistence more than her success at keeping him at arm’s length. If she had her way, she would have spent that time completely on her own.

At night, her lingering tinnitus tortured her—the night proved too damn quiet—daylight brought some reprieve if only because people were out and about. Furia bode her time wandering the neighborhood where she was raised, after the sun came up. She sought the distraction of noise, which dulled the buzz in her ears. The hum of tires and traffic on the road, the resonance of conversation near bus stops and along the sidewalks all fit the bill—those kinds of persistent low sounds helped with the incessant ringing of the tinnitus.

In her treks, she kept the hood of her over-sized black sweatshirt pulled forward, more in an attempt to keep to herself than to hide any evidence of specific injuries; her scratches were healing fairly quickly and the natural wave of her hair easily camouflaged the stitches near her hairline. The large sunglasses disguised the dark circles under her eyes, evidence of her condition’s effect on her ability to get a restful sleep.

The scuff and scrape of the soles of her boots against the pavement gave her some relief as she wandered through her neighborhood rather too obliviously. Her walks always took her by the parks where she and her siblings played as children. Given the time of day and the weather, those locations were littered with children. Their laughter and their parents’ conversations floated on the temperate breeze, all delightful sounds, but it was the rusty, high-pitched squeak of swings and the metallic howl of the ancient merry-go-round that made Furia stop. Taking a seat on a bench beneath a tree, Furia breathed out a sigh of near comfort when the ringing lessened.

Her temporary comfort bore a severe disadvantage. When the ringing faded, her anxieties returned—the questions about her choices, the ethical dilemma of the dual life she tried to lead, even the stupid, selfish curiosity about the state of her infatuation. The tinnitus distorted her focus; when the ringing was in full swing the search for relief ruled her brain. Once a solution presented itself, temporary as it often proved to be, her thoughts floated back and prodded at her again. Of late, her thoughts focused on making comparisons, of reviving memories she thought she had gotten over, or at least laid aside, years earlier.

_I thought you didn_ _’t want to be him. Didn’t want to be a monster,_ the critical little voice in her head reminded.

Another part of her mind, as if the two sides could be personified by little cartoon angels and devils on her shoulders, would pipe up. _He wasn_ _’t a monster. He was just … complicated._ The excuse of a teenager trying to reconcile the differences between the man she had known, loved, and idolized her entire life and the out of character actions she had witnessed from her grandfather in a waterfront warehouse when she was just shy of fifteen. For two years after that event and a few more following her Yayo’s death, she struggled to make sense of that day, of the dichotomy. Had he been the good man she knew and loved her whole life or the intimidating and frightening one she witnessed slicing a patch of skin off a man’s forearm before taking one of his fingers and leaving him with a very real threat against his livelihood? 

Furia took off her sunglasses and rubbed her eyes. She wished she could wipe that memory from her mind; she had even tried several times over the years, but, of course, it was impossible. That day was burned into her mind, although she could barely remember the weekend before her father left on his last cruise. The bloodcurdling screams, as well as the menacing growl from her Yayo’s usually comforting voice rang in her memory with disturbing clarity. It was not a memory she wanted to keep, even so long after both her grandparents passed away.

For weeks and months prior to the explosion at the record company, Furia started hearing compliments, which reminded her of the ways people used to compare her to Yayo. As a girl, she always took pride in those similarities, but later those traits became more problematic for her. Those familiar insights frightened her for all the unspoken, dark, and shadowy implications.

Her recent actions may not have been quite so intimate as his, but she feared she may have actually inflicted the same kind of terror she saw in the eyes of the man her grandfather had punished every time he passed Yayo on the street after that day on the docks. The biggest difference, the outcome of her actions ran on repeat at dawn, noon, six, and ten; only a few knew of her grandfather’s actions.

Of course, the darkness of her own thoughts pushed her toward a particular read on Troy’s sudden departure from her apartment a few nights earlier. _He recognized the monster, and didn_ _’t like what he saw_ , or so she concluded _._ Elbows on her knees, she rested her head in her free hand, twirling her glasses in the other. Furia studied the parents, who huddled in worried little cloisters as they watched over their children with hawkish keenness.

The kids, however, were oblivious. They darted here and there, giggling and mounting the tops of the slides, waving at their parents with triumphant grins. One screech drew her attention to a dark-haired girl dashing over the wood chips covering the play area. A group of about five kids chased her, some growling and holding their hands up in makeshift claws while they called after her.

“We’re going to get you!” one child teased. The others followed suit.

“You can’t escape!”

“You can’t run forever.”

The taunts settled in Furia’s mind. The resonated with her, especially after some of her recent activities. With a deep breath, she pushed the sunglasses back up her nose. Before she stood, the creak of the bench beside her pulled her attention away from the playground and to her left.

_Chingame_.

She knew his face the instant she saw it. She would be hard pressed to forget him, even with the mirrored aviator sunglasses sitting upon the bridge of his nose.

“Lovely day,” he opined, his gaze seeming to survey the playground.

Furia said nothing.

“Unseasonably warm.” His head tilted and his blue eyes met her gaze over the rim of his glasses. “You look like you’ve seen better days.”

Her attention shifted from the cop to the kids, her hood cutting off his view of her face. She leaned back against the bench and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Guess you were one of the unlucky ones who got caught Downtown.”

Furia did not let herself respond in the least, she kept her face impassive. With a little gesture toward her ear, she said, “Sorry, can’t hear you.”

Sadly, it did not deter Detective Markovson. “You should be more careful.”

She scoffed at his suggestion.

“Perhaps a different line of work.”

“Are you trying to suggest I should work a different corner?” she asked with a hint of venom in her tone.

He laughed, loud and bright, drawing scrutiny from some of the wary parents in the park and a few of the quieter kids. “Oh, I’m not so foolish or horny to believe you’re a working girl. I knew that the first time we spoke. You’re careful. Too careful for such an obvious route.”

“So I’m what, then? An accountant?” The suggestion stung; it could have been true if her life played out differently.  “Speaking of which, I’ve got an audit to do,” she said, leaning forward once she finally made the decision to leave him on the bench by his lonesome.

He slapped his newspaper against the wooden slats between them. “Sit!”

In an instant that one word brought back every detail of their chat in the interrogation room—the tone of his voice, his finely lined face, and smug behavior. He seemed to think he could get her to talk, or maybe he actually thought he could turn her into a snitch. She knew exactly what he was doing even way back then. His surprising appearance in the park sparked her curiosity.

“So, you’re the reason I have cops circling my block, then? Or is that just something you cats do to all the girls you’ve got a crush on?” Most mornings, and some afternoons, Furia noticed Quequito in her neighborhood, and when she was feeling especially cheeky she blew him a smart aleck kiss as she went on her way.

Markovson nodded at her. “I’ve got a crush on you all right, just not in the way you think.”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself in order to sleep at night.” Her voice dripped with incredulity, though she recognized the truth in his words. He was not interested in her as some conquest, at least not a sexual one. He wanted something else.

Markovson took his sunglasses off and slipped them in his jacket pocket before draping his arm over the back of the bench, closing the distance between them incrementally. Furia watched his every move and gesture.

“I like the boots. Purple suits you.”

“Gracias,” she replied with cold calculation. “They were on sale.”

“Guess it’s not a surprise at all. I mean you grew up here, didn’t you?”

Furia did not say one word, she just stared at him. A part of her knew this man would probably be able to read even her slightest reaction. Even so, she was thankful she had put her sunglasses on just before she noticed him.

“That’s usually who Little targets. People who grew up in the hardest parts of town. Chinatown, at the edge of the Barrio, the Row, Sunnyvale. He has more trouble there, though, because King’s reputation still puts stars in the eyes of up and comers there,” Markovson said in a rather conversational tone.

Again he was met with silence.

“Julius talks a strong game. Always has, that’s why he and King worked so well together. Silver-tongued bastards, both of them. Knew just what to say to people.” He watched her for a moment, then his gaze turned back out toward the playground. He had his game down pat; Furia would give him that. “Julius has always been good at playing people’s soft spots.” The cop looked at her again, the backs of his fingers tapping her shoulder, like he was a friend telling her something funny or at least interesting. Furia withheld the appearance of her attention, refusing to justify anything the detective said. “If I had to guess, I’d say he was using something like—we can save Stilwater from the gangs. Clean up the streets. Put things right. Just drop those other motherfuckers flying the wrong flag and it will all go back to ponies and rainbows, right?”

Furia knew he was trying to get into her head. To a point, it was working—he quoted Julius’ speeches nearly word for word, at least the selling points he had used on her and some of the others she knew.

“He’s a charlatan. A snake oil salesman. He’s feeding you all the lines you want to hear to get you to die for him—for his vision—as flawed as it is. What’s going to happen with he kicks the Lopez brothers out of the circle?” The cop leaned toward her, lowering his voice a little. “He’s going to take their seat at the table. He’s going to put you all in bed with the Colombians and you’ll be the ones trafficking and selling their product. It’s inevitable. You’ll become the very thing you’re fighting against.”

Even if he might be right, Furia did not let him see his words affecting her. Yet, deep down, there was a part of her that worried he was right. She knew this was all a pipe dream at best. She knew that removing the gangs would just leave a void to be filled by something, someone else. Though at the moment she could not see Julius or the Saints as a worse option than what was already in place.

After a few moments of silence, Furia nodded at him then pushed to her feet. “Thanks for the heads up. I’ll keep it in mind if I run into this character.”

Markovson grabbed her wrist. She stared at his hand then back up at his face as her fists tightened. “Get out while you can,” he told her as he held out a newspaper in front of her.

She took the folded up paper without thinking much of it, then jerked her arm out of his grip. Her steps out of the park were much more confident than they had been on her way there. But she was also much more on edge, and for the first time in days the ringing barely registered as the relative silence crept up on her. Her blood boiled. _How dare he follow her? Set his officers to patrol around her apartment? Corner her in the park and try to tell her what to do?_

Fear and rage raced through her veins in equal measures as she took long strides away from that park. She did not know what to do, nor did she really have anyone she could speak to about it. One face flashed in her mind, but she pushed it aside and jogged across the street to get more distance from the detective.

 

**-2-**

Markovson turned on the bench as she left. He slid his glasses back on, but low enough to get an unhindered view and waited. He would know when she saw the note for certain, he thought. Yet to his surprise, it took longer than he figured for her curiosity to kick in. She looked down, then over her shoulder and right back at him. Those ruby lips pressed into a thin line; he wished she had not been wearing those huge glasses. He wanted to see her gaze, to measure it. When she turned away again he kept watching her until she ducked into an alley, breaking his line of sight. That was when he faced forward again, blowing out a long breath and stretching his arms over the back of the bench. His chest puffed up with a sense of triumph—she had not tossed the paper immediately. Thus, Alan found victory in hope.

He sat there awhile longer, enjoying the relative peace of the day. It was the first in a while he could recall that was not dotted with sirens. Listening to the giggles of the children relaxed him, almost made him forget that there was nothing domestic or tranquil about Stilwater. The shrill ringing of his phone startled him. He had almost dozed off into his daydream unintentionally. His body tensed with the second ring, as he blinked himself back to awareness. Reaching for his phone, his eye skimmed the periphery of the park, and the detective noticed that others had seen him starting to lull. A pair of young teens rubbed at their necks and turned their backs toward him as he answered the call with merely his last name.

“I got a name.”

“I knew you would,” he replied as he fished out his notebook and pulled the pen from the loop on it. “Give it to me.”

“Floyd Crewe”

“Never heard of him.”

“That’s because he’s not a player, just a supplier. Apparently works construction and demolition for Hughes. He’s his cousin.”

_Fuck_. This was not what Alan needed to hear. “You’re shitting me.”

“No. I am _not_ shitting you.” Troy sounded as exhausted as he did exasperated. “Look, like I said, it wasn’t us.”

“ _Us_?”

“The Saints. You know what I mean.”

Markovson was afraid he did know. He glanced over his shoulder again, in the direction of the alley where he had seen the scuffed-up Latina disappear. “Yeah, I _know_. Just make sure you remember where you stand.”

“Believe me. I know exactly where I stand.” The edge still lingered in his partner’s voice. “Look I gotta go. Let me know what you find. From what I hear, this guy is supplying everyone under the sun.”

“Can we meet?” he asked, his concern spiking and showing itself. Their last talk worried him and he knew Troy was in way too deep. Of course, Alan also knew there was only one way out now and that path would only take the younger officer deeper into all of this.

“You tell me.” Troy replied sharply.

The response was not unexpected. The man had been even more cut off since the Saints started making bigger plays and taking territory outside of the Row. They were spiraling out gradually, taking a step and solidifying their position there. It was smart, more calculated than Alan had expected. And they managed to do this while maintaining a strong and loyal in the neighborhoods they started in. This type of expansion was rare in Stilwater, putting up a good fight and not losing any ground, he surmised and had told the captain as much in their last talk. He could not help but wonder if some of that was his partner’s influence.

“Sunday morning. Early. You know the spot. I’ll bring info on this cat,” Alan stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Fine.”

The line went dead before he could reply, prompting him to cast another quick glance over his shoulder. He wanted to know who she was, what role she played, and what Julius wanted with her. Since that first incident, she had not been arrested again. Markovson paid attention to the arrest reports and skimming mug shots every morning for months, looking for another alias the woman might have used. He needed a connection or leverage, but nothing popped up.

He entertained a thought for a moment. It was not uncommon in the department to trump up charges to work someone over. Markovson had managed to avoid that tactic for a long time. His gaze shifted back again, before he shook the thought away. _No, you_ _’re not that kind of cop. Besides, that will have to wait,_ he reminded himself, pushing against his knees and getting to his feet.

_First things first._ He needed to carefully dig up evidence on this demolitions guy. _Hughes_ _’ cousin, who also works for him—this investigation will drive me to an early grave_ , he thought letting our a long, tired sigh as he trudged back toward his unmarked patrol car.

 

**-3-**

The traffic light glowed red; Ginger was already in a sour mood, and sitting at a lunch light in an empty intersection did nothing to improve her outlook on the night. Sitting there, for no reason as she saw it, just made her jaw tighten. She studied the street until one neon sign caught her eye: _Kum Dan_. The name, unfortunate as it may be, was well known in Stilwater’s south side; their takeaway was unrivaled. Once the light turned green, she veered across the oncoming lane to grab a parking spot, just as one opened up near the door.

Within half an hour, weighted down with Chinese takeout, including two orders of egg rolls and a bottle of tequila from the liquor store next door to the restaurant, the tall woman, with the hair to match her name, knocked on the familiar door with the crooked number 9, which rattled gently against the wood with each knock.

“C’mon girl,” she pleaded softly, willing her best friend to be home and awake.

The reason for the delay became obvious when the door opened; Furia answered the door, her wet hair dripped onto the collar of a satiny bright pink robe, darkening the shade in drops and rivulets.

“Thank God,” Ginger breathed then thought about the situation for a moment. “I’m not interrupting something, am I?”

“No.”

“Shame,” she teased, despite her gratefulness. “But I brought egg rolls.”

“Two orders?” Furia inquired, eying her friend like the answer to that question really was the price of entry.

“Of course,” Ginger replied with confidence. Furia stepped aside and pushed the door open in a welcoming gesture. “What kind of monster do you think I am?” the redhead teased. “I wouldn’t just bring Kum Dan to make you watch me eat it.” She set her veritable treasure box on the coffee table, then perched on the edge of the sofa, shedding her coat before she sifted through the takeout containers, laying out their traditional bitching-about-boys fare.

With a laugh, the other woman closed the door. “So I’m guessing that hot date with the … mechanic … wasn’t quite as hot as you were hoping?” Furia asked, wincing as she took a stab in the dark.

Ginger figured her friend could not remember the name, though in Furia’s defense when they talked about him, Ginger had not been raving about his great name. If she had to guess, her best friend could probably quote some choice appraisals of the man’s calves and thighs, since Ginger mentioned them many times during the past month. “Physical trainer. Malachi,” her friend replied, without looking up.

The Latina’s tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth. “Sorry. I remember you talking about how ripped he was, though. And that you could bounce a quarter off his ass,” she assured.

“Oh yes. And he’s a really nice guy, it’s just he can’t stop talking about it.”

“About what?” Furia detoured to the kitchen for silverware and glasses.

Ginger chuckled quietly. Her friend’s ineptitude with chopsticks was a longstanding source of amusement for the amazonian redhead. She could pick locks and hot wire cars, but somehow her fingers lacked the dexterity to work a pair of little bamboo sticks. Though she doubted it was less a question of ability and more one of willingness. The redhead sighed and leaned back into the cushions of the sofa, popping the top of her box open. “Power shakes and protein. His favorite cleanses for this and that. His workout schedule. Apparently, he’s going to be focusing on his pecs this week.”

Furia just stared at her for a moment, before mimicking her friend’s actions. “Was he asking you to watch?”

Ginger smiled. “No, that might have been more interesting. He couldn’t talk about anything but his lifting schedule and his diet and all the vitamins and supplements he took.” She dug out a large piece of broccoli and bit the leafy part off her tiny, saucy tree. “Then he started in on me.”

“Oh. Ouch.” Furia grimaced in sympathy.

Ginger shifted, tucking her legs under herself as she faced her friend. “When we were waiting for dessert, he scooted closer. Christ, he had warm hands. Huge hands,” she said, letting herself get distracted. Then she shook her head. “He was touching my leg, giving me one of those deep looks. You know the one—where you just want to dive into their eyes and paddle around.”

“And?”

Of course, Furia heard it coming. “He told me that if I put in three weeks of extra-focused workouts I could tone up and get better definition in my legs.” She took another bite.

Furia’s eyes widened and she stared at her friend for a long moment, then the expected defense tumbled from her lips. “Who the fuck does he think he is?”

“I should have known better than to go to dinner with a trainer.”

“Your legs are gorgeous, cariño.”

“I’ve always hated my thighs,” she mumbled.

Furia leaned over and kissed her friend on the cheek. “He’s a blind idiot. You’re beautiful.”

“But he was so damn pretty.”

“Well, that’s all fine and good, but from what I’m hearing his interests were highly limited.”

Ginger groaned and took another bite of her beef and broccoli. Then she looked up at Furia. “So, tell me about the sweet fella with the eyes?”

Her friend made a disgusted sound as she retreated back to her side of the sofa, and took a larger-than-typical bite. It was one of those unspoken signs they both knew—a bad sign.

“What happened? The other day he was clocking you like you were Swiss.”

“He was not.”

The argument failed even before Ginger could raise her brow in disbelief.

With a breathy huff, Furia stabbed her fork into her beef lo mein. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not going anywhere. I thought it might, but he gave me the cold shoulder.”

“Spill!” She pursed her lips and threw her friend a lay-it-on-me gesture.

The Latina sighed long and deep. “Fine. You remember I told you how after I kissed him in that car and he ran off like he’d made out with his sister or something. Well, we were kind of talking and stuff. It seemed like he was warming up to me. Then the last week or so—he’s been distant again and strictly business again.” Furia set her box on the corner of the table and ran her hands through her hair.

Ginger understood her friend’s frustration, too well. Furia was into Troy, like Ginger was into that trainer, maybe more. But while her bodybuilder was looking to redefine Ginger’s body. Furia was riding some kind of roller coaster of indecision with this guy. “Maybe I’m stupid for even trying,” Furia sighed. “I just need to keep things on the level and do what I gotta do. Leave Troy be. I should know better.”

“No! No. Just uh-uh.” The redhead shook her finger in a scolding manner. “We are not doing this fatalist, _I should just live my life alone_ , bullshit again, sweetie. I don’t care if you die tomorrow, you deserve to have a little happy, too. Now, sadly for you I’m your best shot tonight and while I love you, girl—I don’t _love you, girl_.”

Furia’s head turned and she stared at Ginger for a long moment before she laughed at the insinuation, but the redhead could still see a hint of the hurt behind her friend’s faint smile.

“You know what? Maybe he can’t deal. That ain’t your fault. I mean, shit, you have guys checking you out regular. Danny keeps asking about you. ‘Have I seen you? How are you doing? If you’re coming by?’” she mimicked, tipping her head from side to side with each question. “That man’s _hard_ into you.”

“I know,” Furia groaned, her tone almost guilty. “He’s just too nice a guy.”

“What? For a chola like you?”

The Saint gasped, wide-eyed and mouth agape.

“Yeah, I said it. Don’t forget … I knew you when,” the bartender warned. “So, don’t try to play all sexy, sweet, and innocent with me. I know just how much hood is under that good hair and just how much hoochie.”

Furia playfully slapped her on the shoulder as the pair fell into giggles.

“Not that I got that much room to talk, mind you. But at least I’m not sitting alone in my apartment singing _Woe is Me_ ‘cause some white boy can’t get his shit in gear. I mean, if you want a little cream in your coffee, I’m sure there are more than a few to choose from. Though to be honest, if I were you …” Ginger hummed and gave her friend a decisive look. “Girl, Johnny is still fine.”

“And taken,” Furia replied. Ginger assumed the reaction was out of habit, and that her friend had not gotten used to the fact that Aisha was gone. Hell, it had only been a few days.

Ginger shook her head and grabbed another bite from her box. “Not anymore. I know you heard the news. Aisha was in the explosion. Six weeks of mourning, and then that man will officially be back on the market.”

“Seriously, six weeks?”

“That’s like the standard for long-term relationships,” Ginger declared around a mouthful of veggies, while gesturing with her chopsticks.

“Where did you get that from?”

She shrugged, picking through her box for another bite of broccoli. “Internet, probably. Maybe my auntie.”

Furia laughed brightly then shook her head. “Nope. I don’t think that’s going to work with Johnny. He loves that girl.”

“Loved. D-d-d-d,” Ginger emphasized the past tense adamantly.

“Doesn’t matter. You feel like that about somebody and it is not going to be easy to get past. No way,” Furia explained, stabbing another bite of thick noodles.

“Maybe,” Ginger shrugged. She did not buy it though. As it was Johnny’s reputation put him at half a step to dog with the way he flirted and ogled, and supposedly hit just about everything with two legs and tits. She figured he might not even make it to the six-week mark before there were rumors swirling about him nailing another dancer in the dressing room of Technically Legal. “Doesn’t mean half of Stilwater isn’t going to do their damnedest to try and console him in his grief.”

“You are shameless.”

“And you could do with a little more of it.” Ginger broke her egg roll and gave Furia a long look. “You should hit that.”

“You’re insane. She … was my friend. And friends do not go after friends’ men.”

“That would normally be true, in a dating or ex situation. Kind of not the same situation here, mujer. And, hell, eight inches can go a _long_ way to distracting from a lot of things, including confusing, sweet, pretty-eyed white boys who are obviously very confused.”

Furia shifted uncomfortably and leaned back in the sofa. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you got way too much of that good girl streak of yours back when you grew your hair out again,” Ginger countered, pointing at her with the egg roll.

“There are other priorities in life than good dick.”

The redhead nodded, despite the fact that she was not convinced. “Maybe. Look, I know how it is. But you can’t keep putting your whole life on hold.”

“I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are. Not that I don’t understand why. But you used to go through guys like Kleenex. You grow up a little and try to get some balance back in your life only to go the complete opposite direction and become a goddamn nun.”

“I am not.”

“When’s the last time you got laid?”

“That’s not the point?”

“Before playing seven minutes in Heaven in the front seat of Troy’s car, when was the last time you even kissed a guy … other than him?”

“Probably three months,” Furia finally answered, exasperated.

“Bullshit. You tell me about them all. Before sweet eyes popped up, it had been seven months since the last time you went out with anyone. And if memory serves me right …” Ginger decided not to voice the other number--the number of months Furia had been sleeping alone, though she gestured at her friend’s hips. “I’m guessing there’s cobwebs down there.”

“Bitch.”

“You know it.”

Furia stared wide-eyed into Ginger’s dark eyes, arguing, “I have my priorities aligned a little differently.”

“Yeah. I know. You think you’re the only thing those kids got.” Ginger did not shrink back from Furia’s glare like some people would. She simply stared back, just as firm in her opinion, though her touch was gentle when she reached out and laid a hand on her friend’s wrist. “It’s not on you, sweetie.”

Furia let her friend touch her, but then pulled away with her revelation of what it meant. “There’s no one else left for it to be on. It _is_ all on me. Mama, Papa, Abuelita, Yayo—they are all gone. It’s my responsibility.”

“So, you just get stuck with six kids, some of whom ain’t kids no more, even if they still act like it … and no life?”

“Guess so,” Furia sighed, an air of defeat about her.

Ginger knew her friend hated this conversation; they had delved into the topic a few times over the years they had known each other. She felt like her friend was left holding the bag, even if Furia had picked it up of her own accord. Their disagreement always centered on the fact that Ginger hated seeing her let so many chances in her own life pass her by because of what she thought was best for her siblings, or what they seemed to need. Family was one thing, but this just felt like it had gone way too far beyond that.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You have to have something for you.”

“Could we just drop this?” the Latina finally said, a finality in her tone.

Ginger huffed, as irritated about Furia’s reaction as Furia was about Ginger bringing the topic up for the umpteenth time. “Fine. Can we go back to talking about how you’re going to nail that atypical skyscraper of a Korean man and tell your best friend about it?”

“No!”

The other woman chuckled. She knew her amusement would tip Furia off to the fact that Johnny’s name would pop into the conversation again at some point. Her friend could handle raunchy, but the bartender’s evaluation of the family pressure she placed on herself was something the Latina preferred to just accept rather than analyze. Furia tried to steer the conversation toward light frivolous topics, even letting Ginger delve back into a short diatribe on Johnny.

Once Furia explained what happened when she returned to her apartment after the visit to the emergency room. Ginger aimed for supportive and concerned, with a few well-placed pushes. Eventually Furia came around to and announced her decision. She had to let it go—the back and forth irritated and confused her. At that moment, she preferred for the people and relationships in her life to be defined, even if loosely. If Troy refused to choose the part he wished to play, then she would have to manage it for both of them. He was Julius’ second, that was clear. And that was how she decided to classify him.


	32. Rhapsody in Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lin puts a plan in motion to ingratiate herself with the upper echelons of the Rollerz, and employs Furia and her crew to carry it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s been awhile, but I wanted to make sure this chapter worked and fit in with the movement I’ve been planning. Thank you all for your patience with me.

**Rhapsody in Blue**

**-1-**

Their typical clandestine meetings always took place in strange out of the way places, but under a bridge overpass during the late afternoon stood out in Lin’s mind. Lin steered the beat-up Slingshot, stolen from a lot downtown, toward the Southside and parked in front of an abandoned house Furia had given her the address for. According to the intricate directions, the meet location was only a short walk away. Lin killed the engine and her eyes skimmed the area before she climbed out, nothing looked amiss or out of place.

To the tune of a honking horns and distant profanity from the busy intersection leading onto the bridge to downtown, the undercover Saint strolled down the sidewalk with a relaxed and casual stride. This might not have been where she grew up but the houses looked the same as her old neighborhood. A few houses in the cul de sac were boarded up, while others sported hazy, dust-clouded windows. The gate of a peeling white picket fence hung crookedly and several of the slats were broken and missing. Only a select few of the homes still bore signs of life, due to stubborn residents who refused to leave. That thought made Lin smile just a little.

She pulled the hoodie over her ponytail, hiding her face, then zipped up her coat as she walked toward the front door of one of those surviving households. In case anyone was watching Lin wanted to keep up appearances. When there was no answer, she rounded the house as if to check the backyard. There she hopped the rickety fence and bypassed the a cracked and weed-infested sidewalk that stopped where it met the sand.

It was curious. Furia knew as many holes in the walls as Lin did, but this place was a gargantuan step beyond that. Being out in the open, meeting under the bridge concerned her slightly, though the houses near here were mostly vacant. Like in other parts of the city the houses, this quiet residential hamlet had been purchased and the rents raised so that no one in the neighborhood could afford to live there. The same thing happened in certain parts of Chinatown, including to her grandmother’s old place. _Rent-controlled, shment-controlled_ , she thought, gritting her teeth. Thinking too long or hard about the politicians and their speeches about public safety and breathing new life into Stilwater made her stomach knot up, so she focused on the more immediate issues at hand—namely the shadowy figure pacing under the on-ramp.

Furia’s reasons for meeting here were her own. Though Lin’s eyes darted around her to see if anyone obviously paid any attention to her, she knew being near the Row would not draw too much attention even if she was seen. Despite that, she had abandoned her blue track jacket with her Voxel, which was waiting a few miles away in one of the multistory garages in the central business district. Her jeans and white, hooded sweater would not stand out much either. _No reason to tempt fate. A_ t least that had part of her plan. Not everyone flying purple knew not to start shit with this particular Roller, and it was better to avoid a situation like that.

A few steps along the edge of the beach and she could already feel the sand seeping into her trainers. The groan went unchecked as a few finer grains wiggled through her socks and scratched between her toes. _Guess that_ _’s one pair of shoes for the fire_ , she grumbled, trudging along the litter-spotted shoreline of the wide canal that separated Downtown from the ‘wrong side’ of Stilwater’s proverbial tracks.

“¡Chica!”

Lin’s head whipped back toward the bridge. There the woman stood, under the overpass, waving a hand that beckoned Lin up into the shadows. A musty odor hung over the waterfront, Lin attributed it to a combination of low tide, pollution, urine, and the miserable fog which rolled through Stilwater that morning. While the fog had mostly dissipated, the day remained heavy and thick with humidity despite a faint chill in the air.

“What are we doing under here?” Lin asked as she hopped onto the ledge.

“Long story.” Furia leaned back against the wall, resting her head against the concrete. “How are things on the Westside?”

“All business, huh?” Lin laughed and noticed the other woman wince. She pushed a slow breath out through her nostrils, debating. By the time the air in her lungs was spent, she decided it might be worth asking the question. “You doing all right?”

“Sí. ¿Por qué?” Furia shook her head. “Why?”

Lin raised her eyebrows at Furia, incredulously. The other woman’s pallid skin and hunched shoulders spoke volumes, but the dark circles under her eyes were the most suggestive. “You look like hell.”

The corner of Furia’s mouth ticked up. “I bet. Haven’t gotten a lot of sleep lately.”

“I heard about that.” Lin dipped her hands into her pockets and came up with a fresh pack of cigarettes. She tapped it on the inside of her wrist a few times before opening it. She offered Furia the first as she balled up the plastic and foil and tucked it away. When it was declined, Lin lit her cigarette and took a long drag without taking her eyes off the other woman. “Can’t believe Johnny’d chance wasting a decent driver on something like that,” she said softly. She picked a piece of something off her tongue and brushed it off her fingertips. “Heard you wound up in the hospital for a bit.”

“Símon. Thanks to some damn pushy cop,” Furia mumbled, voice tight.

“The fuck?”

“Wound up in some diner until the smoke cleared, or dust, or whatever the hell. When the paramedics came through, pendejo insisted that they take me in.” The Latina gestured to her forehead. “Six stitches. Bounced off one of those damn marble walls by the bank, but I got the car there. Got the job done.” She looked Lin in the eye and jabbed at the air as she added, “ _And_ managed to get out in one piece.”

“That’s all you really can do, huh? Especially with these,” she noted, grabbing her chest. The gesture may have been uncouth, but the sentiment was too accurate, even in the Saints. Julius and some of the guys said it didn’t matter, but Lin had seen it enough times. From Johnny’s “helpful” tips to Troy’s big brothering, it all just made the other guys’ snicker. And that inspecting look Dex could get still rubbed her the wrong way.

“I’m noticing that.”

“If you’re not going to spread your legs, you have to have bigger balls than the guys.” At least that was the way she had done it. “I could out drive ‘em and beat the hell out of ‘em until my engine was burned up and my knuckles were bloody. It did fucking nothing. Once you start accomplishing what they can’t, that’s when they take notice. You score a big payday, put a bullet in some invincible dickhead flying the wrong flag, … or, in your case, blow up half of downtown and suddenly their opinions will start to shift. Their first thought when they hear your name goes from ‘I’d like to hit that’ to ‘I hope I didn’t piss her off.’”

That got the other woman laughing, which made Lin smile. “I hope you’re right. I’d kill for Marco to stop hitting on me,” Furia replied.

Lin flicked ash into the wind. “Oh, that will never happen. That man only ever thinks with the tiny head between his legs. And from what I hear that’s being generous.” She held her fingers so close together they nearly touched and chuckled.

Furia’s laughter continued as a genuine smile seemed to bloom.

“So, why are we in hobo heaven? And not someplace warm and quieter,” Lin asked.

“The explosion messed my ears up a bit. They are still ringing. Silence makes it worse, so the hum from the cars overhead and the lapping of the water calms it down a little. Strangely, it makes it easier to hear, kind of,” the other woman explained, though her tempo suggested she was reluctant to reveal what someone might see as a weakness.

“The boys know?”

“My brother.” Furia’s eyes scanned the buildings across the river during her long pause. “And Troy.”

Lin pulled a breath audibly through clinched teeth. “Though I guess that’s better than telling Jules or Dex.”

“Especially Dex,” she muttered.

“You two not hitting it off?” Lin asked.

“He’s an egocentric bastard.”

“So’s Johnny.”

“Sí, but even when Johnny’s ahead of you by leaps and bounds he never makes you feel it quite as much,” Furia replied in unthinking haste. “Dex gets an inch and treats you like yesterday’s trash that someone forgot to take out.”

“He might be worried.”

The other woman shook her head. “Tch. He could care less. Hell, I think he’d rather hear I didn’t come out of something than see my face pop up in the church again.”

“Dex is tetchy. Doesn’t like new people.” Lin took her last drag and flicked the butt into the water. “Especially doesn’t like new people that make a name for themselves as quickly as you have.”

“What about you?” Furia asked, glancing over at her.

Lin stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans, looking away from Furia and out at the water. “I’m a different bird altogether. You’re a damn fine driver. You’ve had my back even when you had to slice off part of your own nose to do it. And from what I hear from the others, including Dex’s bitching, is that you gobble up whatever they put on your plate and ask for seconds. No matter how shitty the job. … Bonus: you don’t stop there. You even got my uncle to side with us, which is pretty impressive.”

Furia smirked and her gaze drifted back to the skyline. “I don’t think that had much to do with me.”

“Oh, it did. At least, that’s what Uncle said to me.” When the other woman did not respond, Lin continued to the reason she came out. “So, do you think you can still run interference with the ringing ears?”

“How so?”

“I need you to break into Donnie’s garage.”

Furia’s incredulous look said it all. “Come again?”

“Since you guys kept the Rollerz off those shipments Price and Donnie have been racking their brains for a fix. I haven’t laid eyes on either of them since their guys didn’t come back.”

The other woman’s brow furrowed. “Call him.”

“Not happening.” Lin feared for a moment that the haste and sharpness in her reply gave away more than she wanted Furia to. Her eyes slid back to the other woman. If Furia did notice, she did not mention it, thankfully.

“So, what’s the plan? I rip off his place and he calls you to be consoled?” she asked with a teasing tone and crooked smirk.

“I was thinking maybe you crash a truck through the front gate, ransack it, take a few things to make it worth your time. _Then_ he might just have to call someone he trusts to watch his place.”

“Nice plan.”

Lin tipped her head toward the shoulder which shrugged upward as she took a long drag on her second cigarette. “Like you, I’m not just a pretty face.”

“I already guessed that much.” Furia turned and leaned her shoulder against the wall. “But I can do that.” There was a pause, and Lin could see something brewing behind those hazel eyes. “Is this all really just to get him to call you?”

“No. I have an idea that might get me in their good graces, if I can get the thick-headed pair of idiots out from under their rock long enough to whisper it in one or both of their ears.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “Trying to make yourself invaluable?”

“Guess some habits are hard to break.”

Furia chuckled, a low rumble that melted into the sound of the traffic noise above them. “I’ll do it tonight. And try to make it look petty.”

“That should work. Appreciate it.” She took another drag, her empty hand slipping into her pocket and fingering the piece of paper, debating. After another few moments of consideration, she pulled the sheet out and handed it to Furia.

“Oh, a love letter?”

“Smart ass bitch!”

Furia just laughed softly.

“Combo to the safe.”

The other woman flipped open the note and then looked back up at Lin, eyes a little wider. “Really? You want us to go that far?”

“A little farther,” Lin admitted, exhaling a steady stream of smoke on a sigh. “Wear blue. Do it after ten.”

Furia’s mouth curved into a knowing smirk. “Are we setting up anyone in particular?”

Lin shrugged in a noncommittal manner. “Not really, just making them suspicious and a little paranoid. Donnie was bragging at a card game about a week back. Telling everybody how much cash passed through his place.”

“Then shouldn’t I be a little less obvious than crashing through the front door?”

With a grimace and a shake of her head, the Saints Lieutenant explained further. “I’ve seen some of our guys cruising the Westside in some beautiful purple cars. Donnie called around to see about putting cameras in his shop. Decided it might be a good idea after your last visit.”

“Well, aren’t you devious?”

“Sometimes.” Lin glanced up at the other woman wearing a wicked grin. “But I’ve heard you’ve got a broad streak like that all your own.”

“Maybe, a little.” Furia’s face might have been aiming for coy, but the look in her eyes told Lin she was all in. “You got it. We’ll do it your way. Does he have cameras outside, too?”

“I think so. Why?”

“I boosted a Quasar the other day. Have it buried at Miguel’s. Way I figure, it would make a wonderful getaway vehicle,” Furia said, adding her own special touch to the setup.

Lin’s laughter suggested her appreciation of Furia’s embellishment. “Sounds like you’ve got it all in hand then.”

“I’ll make some calls.”

“No one that stands out.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to go all amateur on you now.”

“Good,” Lin replied with a hint of sharpness to remind them both that their relationship was not quite friendship, even if they seemed to get along. Even so, Lin could not help but like Furia, and respect her more than some of the other new blood she’d come across. “Hopefully that ear thing clears up soon.”

“From your mouth …,” she agreed. “The doctor said it could take a few days to a few weeks to completely fade. So, I’ve been discovering all the places that keep the ringing from making me crazy.”

“How ‘bout you just get some rest? You look like death on toast,” Lin stated once more for the record. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. When she pulled it out just enough to see who was calling, she added, “I’ve got to get back before someone misses me.”

“Anyone I know?” Furia’s question was thick with insinuation

“Fuck you,” Lin called with a grin that she knew was too wide to hide that the other woman’s impression might just be dead on. “Rest. And then play.”

“Sí, _mam_ _í_.”

Lin chuckled at Furia’s frisky tone, turning her back on the other woman with a soft laugh that would be buried under the traffic noise. Casting an occasional look back, she saw Furia just lean there against the concrete wall, her head leaned back. The progress of her retreat was slow, tromping back down the beach toward a deteriorating section of fence. Looking back once more, the other Saint was nowhere to be found. Lin hoped Furia might actually get some rest before tonight. She did not know for certain how many cameras there were or how the alarm was wired now, and she hoped fatigue would not trip the other Saint up. For more reasons than just because it would interfere with her plan.

She scaled the rotting fence easily, mainly because it was closer to her car than the access half a block up. Back in her car, she pulled up the message. It was just a note from one of the guys, asking her about the contact she had for a muffler for his _baby girl_. She tried not to groan when she read that, but in the silent car the soft sound echoed in her head. Dashing off a quick message before she turned the key, Lin started to shift her mindset again.

The drive helped with that. She picked up her Voxel in the parking garage and pulled the blue track jacket over her hoodie, then headed out. Her trip home included a guilty detour. The leisurely trip ended at her other apartment, where she found Donnie pacing outside her door.

“Where the hell were you?” he asked, worry creasing his brow

Lin narrowed her eyes at him, shifting the vibrantly colored bucket in her hands.

His wide-eyed look calmed, turned sheepish. “Oh, sorry.”

Thankfully, her stop at Mother Clucker’s gave her a viable alibi. It meant she did not have to make up something she might forget later. Over pancakes a few months back, Troy gave her some tips; chief among them: keep the lies to a minimum. _They can trip you up, better to tell the truth or something close to it._ Troy just laughed it off when she asked him how he knew this shit. He blamed it on his strict Catholic parents, who were paranoid that he and his siblings were criminals and miscreants sinning all over the place and engaging in premarital sex every five minutes. Supposedly, the Bradshaw kids used that tactic to keep from getting caught up when his mom and pop broke out the third degree, or so he told her.

“What are you doing here, Donnie?” she asked. Though she could probably guess the reason for him being on her doorstep. The Saints got in the Rollerz way and took those shipments, and the casualties that accompanied it had a lot of people on edge.

He stepped toward her, very close, too close. “Can we go inside?” he whispered, dipping his head toward her cheek.

Lin dodged the kiss, pushing her bucket into his arms and turning in an expert escape move. “Sure.” Her other hand dove into her pocket and took out her keys. They jingled softly in the dimness of the cluttered hallway as she unlocked the door and stepped through it.

When she flipped on the light, she was nearly certain she heard the roaches scatter. The place was a well-kept shithole, but a shithole nonetheless. Its location was ideal, at the edge of Rollerz turf, and it rented for a pittance, which meant Lin could afford it as well as her old place; the combination made it prime real estate in her opinion. Even if she was playing at being something she was not, Lin had things she wanted to return to—her own life, her friends, _her_ gang, and even her family.

Donnie followed, carefully setting her food on the table. She closed the door and while the mechanic set to pacing again, Lin made a beeline for the bucket; she really had been starving when she ducked into the chicken joint. The small family special was her standard order, and meant she would have dinner tonight and something leftover for the next day, too.

“So, what’s going on?” she asked. Lin rifled through the bag for the mashed potatoes and gravy. The crinkling must have distracted Donnie because he did not answer her until she pulled the lid off the container. Lin licked it clean before she leaned back in her chair to mix it all up into a vaguely bland looking concoction.

“Remember that shipment I mentioned a few days ago?”

“Yeah. What about it?” she asked around a mouthful of spuds. Lin leaned back in her chair, propping a foot on the coffee table in order to cultivate a convincing aura of disinterest. She always felt she managed that better with something else to halfway distract her.

“Saints got in the way.”

Lin stabbed her spork into the beige mush and straightened. “The fuck! Did they beat you to it?”

Donnie shook his head then fell onto her sofa, his hands going up in disbelief. “That’s the thing. They didn’t steal the shit. Just ran our guys off.”

She nodded, giving the situation a moment’s thought. Noticing a bit of potato concoction on her index finger, she licked it off and rubbed her hand on the leg of her jeans. “They running protection for someone?”

“How would I know that?”

Lin shrugged. “Then what was the point?”

“Just to fuck us over? I don’t know.” Donnie leaned forward, his hands pushing through his hair. “Christ.”

Lin switched seats, leaving her food on the edge of the table. “Chill, Donnie,” she said touching his hands to try and loosen his grip on his hair.

His head popped up again. “How can I chill? Sharp’s going to blame me. Somehow this is going to be all my fault.”

“You had shit to do with it, man.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Donnie moaned.

Lin looked at him. “We’ll figure something else out.”

“How?”

Lin pulled the top of her bucket of chicken and handed him a leg. “We’ll eat chicken and think about it. Protein’s brain food, right?” she joked, fishing around for a crispy leg of her own.

He glanced at the breaded appendage then back at her, he did not look quite as much like a clubbed baby seal but he still seemed to be on the edge of defeated. Lin “clinked” his chicken leg with her own. Donnie laughed and gave her that sweet smile that made her want to punch him—or kiss him—sometimes both.

They batted options back and forth, from the foolish to the preposterous. Lin tried to lead him to the solution that came to her in the shower the previous morning, but the man was hopeless. Finally, she asked the question, “Didn’t you put one of those systems into an Attrazione about a month back?”

Lin popped a bite of biscuit into her mouth, watching him roll the idea around in his head.

“You know you’re right,” he finally said. Donnie grabbed her face and kissed her; it stunned her. With her gasp of surprise, he deepened it quickly, shifting easily into the next gear. Breaking the kiss, he looked her in the eye. “You’re fucking brilliant.”

His mouth was on hers again before she could reply. Another gear shifted and Lin straddled his lap as Donnie pushed her jacket and hoodie off. Lin didn’t think, she just acted and reacted, playing straight into the frenzy of it.

 

**-2-**

Furia stared at the words scrawled in red marker over the page above a grainy black and white photo of two much younger men, which the caption identified as Julius Little and Benjamin King. _Julius isn_ _’t what he seems._ She folded the page to find a circled article. _Local Girl Shines in Regional Dance Revue Competition._ The writing continued beneath it: _But neither are you._

She stared at the photo of her much younger self considering how big a difference ten years could make. It was easy to see how he made the connection. She didn’t look all that different, all dolled up for the competition. She only wasted a few moments thought on how the detective found it. _Maybe it was coincidence_ , she thought, _maybe he was just looking for ammunition to defame Julius and stumbled upon it._ She would have liked to have believed that, but she wasn’t so sure. In the end, it didn’t really matter how he found out her real name, even though she would have liked to have known how he discovered it.

After folding the page along the same lines she had creased into it earlier, she stuffed it into her pocket and shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. Her fingers tapped at the steering wheel as she waited for her crew. Trying to distract herself from the newspaper, the insinuation, and the cop who had passed it off, she let her thoughts turn toward the Quasar, which, with any luck, had already been abandoned near one of the Westside brothels. That should make it a little harder to identify the driver, and add to the confusion they were trying to create.

Mikey glanced back in the direction of the nondescript panel van they stole to transport their haul. He looked away again before trotting back down the alley and leaned an elbow against the driver’s side door. “He’ll take ‘em no questions. And put ‘em on a truck out of town tonight.”

“Bien,” Furia replied, hitting the button to unlock the rear doors of the van.

The tall thin Saint grabbed the boxes out of the trunk and lumbered back down the alley, repeating the trip a few times. Furia didn’t help out because while a lanky country boy might be easily forgotten, there was a better than average chance that a woman might be remembered as the person fencing high-end racing parts and tools. So, she trusted Mikey to take point on this one, especially since it was one of his contacts and not one of hers.

When he jogged back a fourth time, he slipped into the passenger seat and proffered a stack of bills. “Seven large.”

Furia’s brow quirked up. “Didn’t know you were that persuasive, Mikey?”

The young man shrugged. Even though they were only a year apart in age, Furia couldn’t help but think of him as a kid. Maybe it was the fresh face—he got carded everywhere—or the sweet disposition, or it could have been his thirst for knowledge. “He really liked those tools.”

“Hopefully, not enough to keep them,” she said, looking from the cash to the shadowy figure skulking about in the faint light as he closed the camper lid on his pickup truck.

“Nah, I told him he didn’t want to get found with any of that in his possession. Pretty sure the note about his knee caps might have done the trick.”

Her eyes tracked the slow movement of the van out of the alley. “Let’s hope so.”

“So, added to the cash from the safe, this is going to be quite the score,” Mikey estimated.

He was right, but Furia didn’t agree. Without a word, she turned over the engine of the dark NRG V8 they’d lifted from the strip mall parking lot. Keeping all the lights off until they were at the edge of the street, her eyes surveyed the empty street.

“Just remember, it’s not all ours to play with.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, sounding a little defeated.

“What?” she asked with a playfulness in her voice. She gunned the engine and crossed the empty street to cruise down another dark alley. “You saving up for a down payment on a house?”

“Maybe.” It was the tone of his voice that caused her eyes to leave the road.

When Mikey refused to meet her gaze, her foot dropped heavily onto the brake. “All right, spill it.”

“The brake lights are going to give us away.”

“Then talk fast.”

He sighed. “I need a bigger place. That closet was fine when it was just me, but I kind of want a place where … maybe someone else might _like_ to stay.”

“And real furniture,” Furia noted, taking her foot off the brake and letting the car idle forward. Mikey didn’t reply to her statement. “When did this come up?”

He shrugged. “I mean she stays over some but I always feel bad because it’s so small and junky. When I crash at her place, Lucy’s there and it’s … kind of tough. I just thought maybe if I had a nicer place—” He didn’t finish the thought, then again he didn’t really need to.

Furia patted his knee. “No, I get it.”

Neither of them said anything until she reached the next street. This time she turned onto the empty blacktop and flipped her headlights on.

“You’re falling for her.”

“Fallen,” he answered quietly.

Furia just smiled. It was adorable. It made her think of someone she was trying to distance herself from, but on Mikey it was sweet and a little romantic.

“I just …” Mikey shifted beside her. “I don’t know. I don’t want to move too fast, but I also kind of want to just jump in with both feet. But she told me she’s not the settling down kind.”

Furia considered it for a long moment, giving him a slow nod. “Maybe she said that because she thought it was what you wanted to hear.” Peaches had a reputation; Furia knew it and Mikey had probably at least heard whispers of it. With her track record, she could see Peaches trying to lay down a line from the start, whether it was one to protect herself or to make Mikey feel better, that Furia did not know for certain.

Mikey didn’t reply.

“Well, you have two choices. Leave it as it is. Or man up and say something. The worst she can do—”

“Is break up with me?”

At the stoplight, she looked over at Mikey. “And if she breaks up with you because you want to be with her, then that’s for the best.”

“I think I love her.”

By her measure, when you started thinking about it like that, you either were or weren’t in love with someone. Furia sighed and drove through the light once it changed. “Think or know?”

“Know.”

“Then maybe start with that, then move to the new place conversation.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Mikey nodding. “Yeah. Maybe that will work.”

“Hope so.”

“You won’t say anything, right?”

She shot an incredulous look his way and Mikey laughed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “No. I won’t say anything,” Furia assured. She didn’t break confidences.

“Thanks. Thanks.” His voice softened with the repetition, like he was falling into thought.

 

**-3-**

Warm laughter echoed off the cold stone of the abandoned church. A barrel fire near the door of the church flickered in the alcove, and a handful of Saints milled about the church that night. Most of them exited the nave when Dean-O and Mike Holland returned from a job. Despite their numbers, the Saints there that night proved a rapt audience for an impromptu story time. It happened from time to time, Saints sharing their escapades with their brethren.

“Yeah, you should have been there,” Dean-O crooned, trying and failing to contain his laughter. “She boosted this tow truck and not only took out the door but ate up some zippy little blue racer.”

“I just thought we were there for parts,” added Mikey’s cousin Mike, who everyone had taken to calling Hollandaise. “But she managed to crack the safe in record time.”

Dean controlled his laughter after a moment. “Working with Furia’s on point.”

A few heads in their small audience nodded, those who’d had the chance to work some job or another with her, Troy knew. Of course, Bradshaw nodded as well, taking another drag on his cigarette as he listened to them gush about their success.

The throaty growl that echoed off the buildings on the empty street, pulled his attention away from the tale. He watched the orange Hammerhead pull up in front of the church. When she parked, Mikey bounded out. In the cabin light, he noticed her reach for the door handle, but when her eyes met his, she froze. The sharp whistle pulled Mikey back to the car. She said something to him, shook her head, then her face took a sterner countenance.

“Cool.” Troy heard Mikey say as he shrugged. He grabbed up the paper bag and shut the door.

As quickly as she’d pulled up, she was gone without even giving Troy so much as a glance. It was more painful than he anticipated; he tried to remind himself it was for the best.

“What’s up with her?” Dean-O asked.

“Said she needed to take care of something,” Mikey explained. “Let’s go inside. Get this done.”

“Hell, yeah,” Hollandaise agreed, clapping his cousin on the shoulder.

“Troy, you coming?” Mikey called from the top of the stairs.

Bradshaw had been staring at the shrinking taillights. “Yeah,” he finally replied, turning to trot up the steps behind them. “Whatcha got?”

Once in the church, he led the partial crew to the spot that served as his office. Mikey handed him a bag brimming with cash that refused to close, held fast by a rubber band. Sticking out of it, there as a quickly scrawled slip of paper with a series of numbers in an order that made sense to Troy because he’d seen it more than a few times, and Furia had given him an explanation for it the first time she brought in a large stack. To anyone else the breakdown of the take and percentages would look like code or phone numbers that wouldn’t work.

“What the hell garage did you hit?” he asked staring at the numbers.

“That Donnie guy,” Mikey said.

“You know? Price’s boy toy,” Dean-O added.

“And he keeps this much cash in his shop?” Troy thumbed the clump of bills with a look of disbelief.

“More,” Mikey noted as he handed envelopes to the other two men. “And we fenced off some of his tools and parts on the way back. Didn’t get what I’d like, but she didn’t want them hanging around.”

“Damn.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Hollandaise added, one hand stuffed in the pocket of his coat. If Troy had to guess the kid was holding damn tight to the envelope his cousin gave him. “What say we get out of here and celebrate.”

“Cool that noise, bro,” Dean-O noted. Glaring over his shoulder at the new guy. He pushed the guy’s shoulder and led him out of the office. Mikey followed in his wake.

Troy, however, made his way into Julius’s office and cracked open a small safe, depositing the envelope with a few others. Though he pulled the slip out before closing the door. Stopping near Julius’ desk, he took out his lighter and waved it under the corner of the paper until it caught. He watched it for a moment as the flame darkened and curled the paper, destroying her flowing script. Laying it in the ashtray there, he watched the consumption of that paper and lit another cigarette.

It was no wonder Julius wanted her around. Her crew was pulling in more green than the others, except for Dex’s pushers.

Despite that, all Troy could think about there in the dark with the blazing cherry on the end of his cigarette was the way her smile faded and her eyes went tepid when she saw him on the steps of the church. It was somehow a dozen times worse than when he first noticed the softer edge of her smile around him.

“Make up your mind, idiot,” he grumbled at himself.

The light came on with no warning. Johnny stood in the doorway, looking around the room. “Who the fuck are you talking to?”

“No one.”

Gat just shrugged. “C’mon.”

Troy followed. He needed the distraction, so he didn’t even ask Johnny where they were going, or why.


	33. Under Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cracks are appearing in multiple facades. As Furia tries to put more distance between herself and memories of her grandfather, Peaches is coming to some terms with her own family history. Neither Johnny nor Aisha are dealing with the aftermath of her “death” as well as they thought they might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a minor reference here to a conversation and resulting memes that rampantly made the rounds of the Saints Row tumblr community for a while more than a year back. It centered on Johnny Gat and his murderous approach to lawn care.

**33 Under Pressure**

**-1-**

The small apartment could be called threadbare. Cracks in the stucco on the walls created shapes like white lightning in the maroon paint. The floors creaked with every step as Johnny led the way toward the kitchenette, which was little more than a fridge, sink, and stove with a cabinet in between. Gat dropped his keys on the kitchen table that looked like it was circa 1960s garage sale chic.

“Want a beer?” he offered.

Troy just nodded at first. “Yeah.”

He’d been to Johnny’s before, but he’d never really looked at the place. It gave shit holes a good name, but it was tidy for a death trap. There was a poster of Aisha over the sofa and chipping paint in the windowsills. The furniture had all seen better decades, but to be fair his place wasn’t that much better.

Johnny opened the bottles on an opener on the side of the ancient refrigerator. The motor rattled and whirred loudly after he kicked the door closed. He handed Troy a bottle and motioned toward what could only be called the living area—a sofa, chair, and a piece of dark knotty wood held up by cinderblocks, serving as a coffee table.

Troy took a long swig from his beer then sat down on the sofa. It lacked any kind of support and he sank into it. “Surprised you’re still staying here, given everything.”

“Yeah, well,” he started, sitting in the chair and propping his foot up on the makeshift table. After taking a long swig, he let out a slow breath. “Right now, the plan is for me to keep my distance.” Johnny didn’t sound all that convinced.

“That seems to be going really well.” Troy’s answer mimicked the impression the other man’s response gave off.

Johnny’s gruff chuckle and the face he pulled spoke volumes. It seemed Gat wasn’t adjusting well to the repercussions of his plan. “It’s necessary.”

Troy battled the overwhelming desire to say something along the lines of _I told you so_ , but he managed to fight it off. “Sounds rough.”

The other lieutenant just nodded. “She’s stuck in a basement, just keeps watching the damn news. It’s starting to get to her. Calls me crying in the middle of the night. Every night,” Johnny admitted into the amber neck of his bottle before tipping it back.

Troy winced. He could only imagine just how disturbing the combination of seclusion and the grief-mongering coverage of the bombing might be for her, all things considered. Somehow, his thoughts tumbled back toward Furia; he couldn’t help but wonder if she might be in a similar situation—suffering, wondering, or maybe she might just hate him, finally. With the tightening of his jaw, he managed to jerk himself back into the situation at hand. “When are you moving her?”

“The day of the funeral.”

His brow raised. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Johnny’s lips pursed.

“Who’s doing that?” Troy really hoped he wouldn’t say the name of Aisha’s last driver.

“I’m hoping you’d do it.”

Bradshaw nearly choked on the swallow of beer he took. “Me?”

Gat just nodded. “Miguel’s got a blacked-out sedan for me, but I have to be at the funeral.”

“And if you ditched, the press would be all over you.”

Another nod.

“Not like your involvement with her was on the down low.”

That earned one of those trademark chuckles. “So, you’ll do it?” Johnny asked.

“Sure. Not like I’ve got much planned.”

“I appreciate it.”

The question itched at the back of Troy’s brain. After another drink, he decided to just ask it. “Why not go to Furia again? You went to her with the first job, so obviously, you trust her.”

“I did.”

Troy stared at him, waiting for more, which with Johnny could be like pulling teeth. “And?”

“She said she’s got some unwanted attention.”

His hazel eyes narrowed. “What kind of attention?”

“Some cop’s been sniffing around her. Ambushed her on a walk the other day.”

Troy tried to keep himself steady, as his mind and pulse raced. Markovson hadn’t mentioned any of this. Though for a moment he thought he might be jumping the gun. It could have been the beat cop she made a fool of, but deep down he just knew that couldn’t be the culprit. Besides, that guy had been sniffing around for a while without her worrying about it. This was something different, if she was turning down work because of it. Troy figured this might just be his fault. It could have been his outburst on the docks, or even just the way he danced around the subject of her in earlier meetings. He was certain he had put his partner on her scent; Markovson must have had something on her, or at least thought he did.

“That’s no good,” Troy finally replied.

“No shit!”

“She say who it is?”

“Nah. Said she’d handle it,” Johnny told him.

As Bradshaw watched Johnny drain his beer, he wondered precisely what her answer meant. Of course, there was the chance that it was a literal regurgitation of what Furia said to Johnny, or he could be leaving out the details. Either was a likely as the other, Troy knew. Of course, that didn’t satisfy his curiosity or his concern.

Johnny rocked forward getting to his feet. “Another?” he asked, gesturing at Troy with his own bottle.

“Sure,” Troy answered, polishing off his own. The alcohol didn’t slow down his brain in the least, _yet_ , and his thoughts centered squarely where they really shouldn’t be.

 

**-2-**

Seeing Troy at the church really shouldn’t have been unexpected, but it left Furia in a bit of a tailspin. So, she continued her avoidance tactics, as the ringing dissipated, but it turned out there really was a limit to the number of cars her cousin could move in a concentrated amount of time. And with that being her only outlet, she was truly left with no option but to kick her way around her own hang ups. _So, what?_ _So, they_ _’d kissed a few times and flirted._ Her mind ran ahead of her and added, _he_ _’s had you bent over the counter of his kitchen half naked_. She groaned and tried to wipe the memory out of her head as she pushed through the door of the diner.

A tinkling bell atop the door announced her arrival. Peaches looked up and waved her over with a huge smile and a hurried gesture that made Furia grin in reply. _Guess she didn_ _’t break up with Mikey_ , she thought as she fell into the seat. It seems Peaches was either extremely excited or just having a really good morning, because she’d ordered for both of them. News be damned, Furia’s empty stomach tightened with a demand that she dive right in.

The other woman beamed brightly when she leaned across the table to whisper the news of the two of them moving in together, though it wasn’t much of a whisper.

Furia smiled and presented a genuinely happy appearance as she chewed, despite that, Peaches narrowed her eyes. “You knew!” she accused.

There was no denying it. Nearly choking on a bite of fluffy pancake, Furia nodded. “Sí. He told me the other night.”

Peaches collapsed back against the booth and glared at Furia. “Can’t believe he told you first.”

“I kind of yanked it out of him. He was being all—” Furia released a quiet sigh, complete with drooping shoulders and a perplexed frown. When Peaches laughed, clearly recognizing Furia’s Mikey impression, she laughed as well.

“He was not.”

“Oh, he was.”

That made the other woman smile wider, looking down at her fork wistfully as she picked at her syrupy stack of pancakes.

The default buzzing of Furia’s phone, broke through both women’s moods. She pulled it out and tapped at the screen with her thumb to find the message. “Mierda,” she muttered, then chugged down at least half her cup of coffee. “I have to go.”

As the taller of the two threw down a few bills, which would more than cover the meal, the strawberry blonde followed her.

“Wait up,” she called as they reached the street.

“Gotta see a guy about a thing.”

“Way to be vague.”

“Seriously. I’ll make it up to you this weekend or something.”

“Hell with that. I’m coming with,” Peaches said, sliding into the passenger seat of the white Hammerhead.

Furia could already tell she was going to have to rethink the upholstery. The white showed every little smudge, and the carpet already looked like it had been trampled by a herd of something wild, muddy, and oily, she thought as she slipped behind the wheel.

“Fine. But no commentary,” she noted before cutting off an older couple in a Komodo whose adamant argument ended the moment Furia gunned the engine of her vehicle.

The convertible, top down despite the cold, wove through traffic and empty back streets from the Southside to Little Shanghai. She managed to squeeze the beefy vehicle into a spot around the corner from the tea house. Her long stride carried her toward the restaurant quickly. She was oblivious to Peaches near jogging to keep up with her. After what Lin said the other day about her uncle, Furia didn’t think it would do to leave the man waiting when he asked her personally for a meeting.

When they walked into the place, a comfortable warmth and quiet string music quivered all around them. A petite woman, wearing floral pink, blinked at her and asked. “Table for two?”

“No, thank you. I’m here to see Mr. Wong,” Furia said with a quietude and reserve that reflected the tenor of the room.

The woman didn’t even try to hide the inspecting look she cast at the pair of them, nor the roll of her eyes. “Wait here,” she said in a stern voice that reminded Furia of her high school math teacher.

First, she tried to pop her jaw, then Furia rubbed at the spot just in front of her ear in an effort to calm the ringing that seemed to pick up in the relative quiet of the tea house. Peaches tapped Furia’s arm, drawing her attention, which shifted instantly with a pointed finger. The woman in pink gave them a demure wave and Furia crossed the room as quickly and smoothly as she could, despite a moment of imbalance when they reached the doorway.

The hostess waved them in then closed the door behind the two women. Mr. Wong sat at the opposite end of the table, the green of his tunic shone in the soft light of the room. The formality of his dress made Furia completely conscious of the casualness of her own ripped baggy jeans, purple suede work boots, and the leather jacket covering up the a barely there top.

Despite their disparity, Mr. Wong’s tone was jovial and bright, even welcoming.  He gestured toward the opposite side of the table, speaking Mandarin, as his translator spoke for him. “So, glad you could make it on such short notice. Would you care for some tea?”

“Certainly,” Peaches replied first, Furia poked her leg under the table, but it was too late.

The translator moved to fill both their cups as he spoke. “I’m sure you’re curious why I contacted you.”

“A little,” Furia replied to Mr. Wong, though she did offer a nod of thanks to the translator, who returned to the older man’s side.

The flow of the conversation took on a distorted feel as everything each of them said had to pass through the translator.

“It is rare in this country to find someone with your tenacity,” he said.

With a glance to her right, Furia could see Peaches was thrilled by the tenor of the conversation, whereas Furia remained cautious for reasons the other woman did not know. This man knew her family. Knew her grandfather. It worried her to say the least, and the compliments did nothing to assuage her anxiety.

“Here you will find specifics about a group of men who have wronged my family.” Her hazel eyes locked on the thick envelope that slid across the polished tabletop once Mr. Wong pushed it with a gnarled finger. “Go, and speak to them. But they are not to be harmed,” the translator stated.

Furia’s brow drew downward, that was not the direction she expected this conversation to go. She wasn’t an enforcer, she thought, just before the gunshot rang out. It startled both women. Furia’s hand had flown to the holster at the small of her back as the translator screeched and dropped to the ground cradling his knee. Her hand wrapped around the grip of the 9mm under her coat. She only relaxed a bit when Mr. Wong laid the massive Shepard on the table and returned to his tea.

“He heard me wrong,” Mr. Wong said in a gravelly, heavily-accented voice. “I wish for them all to be dead. Do we have a deal?”

Looking the older man in the eye, Furia’s mouth tightened. “I’m not sure I’m the person you’re looking for.”

“This is not personal. It is business.”

She wasn’t sure she believed that. Though it was the same excuse her grandfather gave her when he found her cowering in his office. _It was business. He stole from me. I had to show him and others that there are consequences to that kind of behavior otherwise everyone would steal and this would all fall down around our ears._ He knew her grandfather, worked with him and spoke highly of the man. She did not want Mr. Wong to mistake her for him.

He folded his hands in front of him. “That is how your grandfather and I remained out of sight all these years. Never personal. Always business.”

Furia remained silent until Peaches elbowed her in the ribs. By his tone and what he said, she guessed he wasn’t talking to her alone. He was talking to the Saints. This was not her call to make, but she made it anyway—backed by his tone, what Lin said, and the fact that he contacted her directly. “We have a deal,” she replied, managing to smooth over her own reluctance. “I’ll make sure we get this done.”

“Excellent.” He smiled widely and lifted his tea cup, insisting that she do the same, which she did. The conversation turned toward recent events in the city, including him sharing his opinion on the plans for the holiday parades that were rerouted to curve through Little Shanghai. “I do hope I’ll see you there.”

“I’ll certainly see what I can do,” she replied. Finishing off her tea, she gave a respectful bow. “Thank you for the tea, Mr. Wong.”

“A pleasure as always, Miss Guerrero.”

“Just Furia, please,” she replied.

“Certainly,” he said with a deferential nod as they shook hands, but he didn’t let go of her hand immediately. His grip tightened and he leaned toward her; she made up the rest of the distance and he whispered, “Either a photograph or a finger.”

Furia nodded and swallowed, hoping the lump in her throat didn’t make her discomfort audible to him as well.

He easily fell back into Mandarin as the two young women made their way out of the small restaurant. None of the patrons seemed aware of what transpired in the room, namely the gunshot or the subsequent screeching, though that had subsided quickly. Furia guessed the poor guy must have passed out from the pain. Their lack of reaction sparked her curiosity and coated it with an undercurrent of fear. If no one had heard any of that, then they wouldn’t have heard anything else. But that was a good thing, wasn’t it? At least that was the position of one side of the argument playing in her mind.

Shaking her head, she pushed through the door of the restaurant. The sounds of the city enveloped her, comforted her, as she walked toward her car at an increasing pace.

Peaches jogged to catch up with her. “Holy shit. So, that’s Mr. Wong. He’s got that spooky karate movie master vibe going hardcore.”

“Mmhmm.”

“He knew your grandfather?”

“Síp.”

“And you’re going to take all those guys out for milkshakes?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Furia!” Peaches yelled.

She stopped and turned and looked at the other woman.

“What the hell was that?”

“A job,” Furia said simply, still trying to wrap her head around it.

“You’re doing this?”

Her eyes drifted up the street. “I’m taking it to Julius. It was a job for the Saints, not me personally. He just … talks to me,” Furia stated with a shrug. Her mind drifted back to that afternoon on the docks, that man’s screams, her grandfather’s strong tone leading his whimpering voice toward the answer he wanted to hear. She shook her head and started walking again.

“Car’s this way,” Peaches corrected after about a dozen steps. She grabbed Furia’s arm to keep her from stepping out into the crosswalk and into traffic.

Furia turned and followed her, without acknowledging what almost happened, as she continued mulling it all over. That thing she feared becoming for so long—she was right there at the cusp of it. The boosting cars and theft, she’d been doing that to scrape by since before her grandfather passed, before she knew about him and his business. And months ago, she’d bashed a man’s head in with a baseball bat and more since. So, why did the idea of the names in that envelope make her head spin?

“Maybe it’s like he said,” Peaches reasoned. Furia only just became aware that her friend had been speaking almost non-stop since they started walking again. “It’s just business. Not personal. I mean it’s not even your business.” She turned toward Furia again. “You know, Mikey could help. He’s a really good shot.”

“Peaches, stop,” she said, touching the other woman’s shoulder. It quickly became obvious to Furia that she was just trying to help her figure it all out. She slipped her arm over her friend’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “Gracias. And you’re right. It’s just business. Okay?”

Furia pulled open the passenger door and guided her into the front seat, then rounded the car and got behind the wheel.

“He’s right,” Peaches repeated once they were on the road. She shifted in her seat. “I mean it makes sense. I never knew my mom. I mean I did, but I didn’t, you know?”

The dark-haired woman just listened.

“Her work never followed her home. I never even knew what she did until after that day she wasn’t there to pick me up from school.” She huffed, tucking her arms around herself. “I just thought I was lucky, and maybe I was. I never knew what she did.”

It was something Furia could closely relate to. Almost as if excusing herself and her current actions, she said, “Maybe she was doing what she thought she had to.”

Peaches looked over at her and nodded. “I know, but she taught me different. It seems kind of hypocritical now that I know better. All her ‘wait for marriage,’ ‘talk pretty,’ and shit.”

“She probably just wanted better for you.”

“I don’t think pretending to be something she wasn’t was the way to go.”

Furia pulled over into a parking lot and threw the car in park, then leaned on the back of the seat. “But did she really. Pretend I mean. She loved you. She was your mom, took care of you, was there when you were sick, helped you with your homework. That’s who she was, right?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Does it really matter how she paid the rent and put food on the table? Or just that she did?”

Peaches stared at her, seeming to consider what she’d said. “You’re right. Except that maybe if she was a receptionist in some office she might not have disappeared without a trace.”

“You don’t know that. That’s no guarantee of anything. Hell, I was tending bar and almost got shot on the way home,” Furia explained. “I worked three jobs and could barely make my rent, let alone do what I needed for the kids. Now, I can cover all the bases and then some. Maybe your mom made a choice like that. Worked the job that allowed her to be the kind of mom she thought you deserved.”

The tears had started falling before the sob broke free. Furia unbuckled and slid over, wrapping her friend in a tight hug. She didn’t know if it was true, she just knew that regret haunted her own mother, being sick and not being able to take care of her kids the way she wanted to, not being able to be the kind of mother she thought the seven of them deserved. Her grandfather and Peaches’ mother seemed to have taken a page out of the same book. Furia was always told that you do whatever it takes for family, and Peaches’ mom must have taken something like that to heart, or at least that’s how it seemed to Furia. The woman walked her to and from school, was there to help with homework, and read bedtime stories. Unlike her Yayo, that woman managed to keep the reality of her life away from her daughter, shield her from the ugly parts.

All in all, it could have been the truth. Who really knew?

 

**-3-**

When they arrived at the church, Furia convinced Mikey to take Peaches home. She, however, continued inside, trekking to the room in the back only to find it empty.

“Mierda,” she muttered. Turning, she came face to face with Troy, who gave her a start. _Why is he always around?_ she wondered for a moment. The answer was clear. Her lips pursed tight, like her jaw.

“Need something?” he asked finally. The tone of his voice held a note of concern. One she did not want to hear. It just confused everything.

“To talk to Julius obviously,” she replied. _Why is this happening? It doesn_ _’t matter_ , she thought as she walked toward the door. Before she could escape back down the hall, he halted her progress by stepping into her path.

“Anything I can help with?” His voice softened, like his eyes, and he tilted his head the barest bit. Before he actually touched her, he balled his hand into a fist and stuck it into his pocket.

She watched the action, part of her glad for the restraint, while another part regretted it. That exasperation clearly bled through in her tone. “You could let me pass.” 

Troy stared at her, his look hardening. “Is something going on?”

_Yes._ Furia sighed and stared right back at him, trying to keep her decision in mind—to keep it just business. _No._ “Why don’t you tell me?” she challenged. She almost regretted the sharp, clipped tone she directed at him. By the way his eyes widened, it seemed to shock him as well.

But he did not cave, though he did square his shoulders. “How are your ears?”

Furia rolled her eyes. “Better,” she answered. It was true, mostly. The ringing came and went rather than being constant, but silence exacerbated it, or maybe then she was just more aware of it.

“So, you’re feeling well then?”

“I don’t see how that is any of your business.” Then she sidestepped Troy and his attempt to dance with her in the hallway. Watching the way he rubbed at the back of his neck, Furia felt herself taking pity on him. “I have things in hand. That’s all you need to know, but, if you see Julius, tell him I need to talk to him,” she said, trying to keep things from getting too personal.  Furia took a few more backward steps, looking him in the eye. “Oh, and thanks for the dance.”

Troy leaned his shoulder against the wall, looking at her like she meant something. She used to enjoy that, but at that moment it was furiously confusing. Furia almost wanted to stop and just ask what the hell happened the evening he walked out. She wanted to find out why the hell he kept shifting gears on her. Despite that, she turned away from him with a gruff sigh, and continued down the dim stone hallway.

He made her head all hazy, but she didn’t want to dip back into that pool, find herself invested again, only for him to go all cold and distant once more. That wasn’t a ride she wanted to be on. So, she left, telling herself with each step to keep walking until she reached her car.

The drive home happened on automatic pilot. When she put her convertible in park up the block from her building, she waited for the roof to raise before rolling up the windows. Furia played it over and over in her mind. She couldn’t figure out why the thoughts lingered, why she couldn’t let it go. _Time, maybe I just need time_ , she thought; distance was clearly not in the cards, but time, she seemed to have plenty of that.

 

**-4-**

The days dragged on at a pace which rivaled pouring cold molasses. Aisha watched the news, saw the spectacle surrounding her death through the news reports. The drive from the virtually abandoned hole in the wall in her old neighborhood to Misty Lane would take nearly an hour in rush hour traffic. Her decision, not made lightly, trickled into motion months earlier and started with the purchase of a house in the suburbs. Purchased under the name of an old family friend, who had been catatonic and in hospice care most of their life. No one could trace the house to anyone known to be connected to Aisha or her family, unless they dug incredibly deep—deeper than anyone ever ventured before.

She’d been expecting Troy that morning just before dawn, but the face that greeted her was one she never guessed would volunteer to drive her. Lamar didn’t agree with this choice, or really any of the choices Aisha had made in her life. Even so, he was there. She threw her arms around him, but the one he looped around her back just laid there limply until she released him. Then he ushered her to the sedan and he slipped into the driver’s seat.

Of course, her brother decided to take the scenic route, which Aisha appreciated, at first. After all, she had been stuck in a dingy rat trap of an apartment for more than a week almost all by herself. So, being out felt amazing. Just being in someone else’s presence was an incredible relief, even if the windows of the Justice were limo-tinted. It was nice to have him around, though she huddled in the backseat far away from him, still all bundled up against the biting chill in the air.

Jane Valderamma, in her news reports, showed and discussed the makeshift memorials popping up all over town. The one at the studio remained small since the area was still cordoned off by law enforcement but there were fans who braved arrest to place flowers, homemade cards, and trinkets there where they thought she died. The lobby of her apartment building downtown saw a much more concentrated display. Neither comforted Aisha, or made her feel better about the situation. Strangely, the news reports never showed the memorial on the steps of the Emmanuel Baptist Church.

Aisha’s family church not only played a central role in her upbringing but it was a cornerstone of the community. For her, it was where she discovered her gift for singing and where family and friends encouraged its cultivation. Aside from all the milestones, like her baptism and meeting the first boy she kissed, that building held memories of the first time she sang in front of people, her first solos, singing for lock-ins and cantatas, as well as in the choir every Sunday morning. She grew up in that church from the Bible studies to the youth programs, she spent as much time in that building as she did in her mother’s home.

Its importance to her formative years seemed to be reflected in display out front. With a hand pressed to the cold glass, she took it all in as best she could as the car moved far too quickly. In that moment, she knew why Lamar took that particular route to the freeway. The steps leading up to the front doors were covered, except for a thin aisle, and it was starting to overflow onto the sidewalk. The outpouring shocked her, the concern and care extended to her family and her memory. Seeing that place, which was so central in her life, covered in mementos of remembrance— _for her_ —just twisted Aisha up inside. She had not really thought about how people beyond her family and Johnny would deal with her choice, her decision to disappear. Truth be told she did not think she could have that kind of impact on others; the guilt of the grief her actions sowed weighed down on her.

Lamar wanted her to see it, she knew, he wanted to make her aware of extent of peoples’ reactions. Aisha made her decision based on what was right for her. She barely considered the impact beyond those closest to her. The choice to walk away from her life would end her singing career—break the unbreakable contract with Kingdom Come Records—and distance her a bit from her family, but she thought what it would give her back might be worth what she was giving up. Staring at that display, she learned just how selfish her choice had been.

“Did you really expect no one to notice?” her brother asked, as he glanced at her in the rear-view mirror.

His voice startled her and Aisha’s head snapped in his direction. She stared at the reflection of his eyes in silence. “I don’t know. I just didn’t …”

“Think?”

Aisha narrowed her eyes at him. The truth of his accusation stung like a slap to the face. “Oh, I assure you. I thought about this. I tried to find some other way.”

“But you did it anyway.”

“So, what? I should have just sucked it up and let Warren Williams bleed every drop of life out of me? Spent years either languishing under that contract or in court trying to fight it, while Kingdom Come smacked me with injunctions right and left to keep me from singing anywhere. Just to keep me from even thinking straight.”

Stopping at the light, he turned and laid his arm over the seat as he looked at her. “Did I say any of that?”

“No.” She stared back, sulking a little. “Okay, I didn’t think that people would respond like this,” she admitted in a manner that even she found petulant. Her eyes fell as her voice took on an apologetic tone. “I honestly didn’t think they’d really pay it much attention. Sorry.” The last word came out in a small voice.

The honk behind them called his attention forward again. “I know. If you would have thought about this, it would have taken you longer to come to this conclusion.”

Aisha did not reply. Her eyes returned to the family church as the car pulled away again. She really never counted on this in her plans. The last few days were rife with realities she had not considered, especially the fact that time with her family for the first several months was going to be exceptionally rare to nonexistent. She also never considered the fact that she may not ever be able to step foot in Emmanuel Baptist again, or her mother’s house. She sank back into the seat again, wrapping her arms tighter around herself.

“This is going to be harder than you think,” Lamar injected.

“I know,” she said, her voice still small.

The hum of the tires against the concrete resounded through the silent vehicle as it sped along the freeway. Neither of them said anything else for a while, just letting that sound resonate around them.

“Deep down what were you wanting out of this? I know this wasn’t just about the contract.”

“They were taking over my life Lamar,” Aisha said after a long drifting silence. “Everything from the way I dressed to the way I talked, the songs I sang. And Johnny.”

She watched her brother nod his head. As usual, Aisha fell into an explanation about how she felt about Johnny, how much he meant to her. Even though he said he understood, her brother did not agree with the defense she put up about her man. Despite the fact that Lamar and Johnny had been friends for a long time, her brother did not like his friend as a partner for his sister. The two of them, on more than one occasion, came to blows over it in the beginning, and while they still hung out from time to time, Lamar and Johnny were no longer as close as they had been before she started seeing him.

“So, it’s all about _him_ then.”

“No!” she answered almost immediately sitting up and grabbing the back of front seats as she closed the distance between them.

“They wanted you to stop seeing him, huh, Eash?”

Her eyes narrowed at her brother. “I wanted out for the last few years. They only recently brought up the _new_ man thing. They threw head shots on the table and told me to pick one. That they’d arrange everything.”

Lamar laughed and shook his head, but didn’t reply immediately. “Sure, that’s not their call. But what were you thinking? That since you wouldn’t be the big shining star anymore and had to live under the radar that Johnny’s just going to follow you under that rock?”

“Damnit, Lamar.”

“Fucking Gat. I swear to God!”

“I wanted a new start. A story that’s mine you know.”

Lamar shook his head. The look on his face screamed disbelief.

Aisha huffed and fell back against the backseat. “I want to direct my own life. Have some control over the direction I’m going, you know, rather than having every choice dictated to me. Don’t I have that right, too? Shouldn’t I be able to exert some control over what happens to me? Maybe even with Johnny and I?”

Her brother shook his head again, his lips drawing into a thin line as he exhaled through his nose. Then he looked up at her in the mirror. “What do you think is going to happen, Eash? That he’s going to, all of a sudden, disappear with you? Get married? Become a stable member of society with the wife no one can ever know about and 2.5 kids in some house in the suburbs? C’mon. Not even you can imagine Johnny in Bermuda shorts with black knee socks and sandals mowing the lawn. Like he’s going to trade a bar brawl for fighting crab grass,” Lamar said, punctuating his opinion with a derisive little laugh.

“Maybe not. But I want the chance. I want to choose for a change.”

“Well, you did that,” Lamar mumbled. “On the largest damn scale possible.”

With a lick and bite of her lips Aisha crossed her arms again, albeit this time it was more out of petulance than remorse. Neither of them said anything the rest of the way to the house. While she waited for the garage door to close completely before getting out, her brother did not. When Aisha entered the house, she looked around for him, finally finding him out back. Her older brother smoked as he paced around the shape of the pool. She hated that she angered and disappointed him, but it was her life. With a shake of her head, her dark brown eyes dropped with the realization that those were the types of thoughts she needed to break the habit of. They were just the kinds of ideas she railed against when they came from the record company.

So, she _chose_ to head upstairs, intending draw a bath in the garden tub in the master bathroom. But walking through that house alone she got a flash of her immediate future. Neither her family nor Johnny would be around much for the foreseeable future; with the attention of the press it would not be possible for them to start visiting a house in the suburbs. That would just end up ruining everything, she knew. Her fingers wiggled under the hot water to check the temperature then she flicked them a few times before she wandered back into the large bedroom. She furnished and decorated the house before the explosion; there were clothes in the closets, everything was prepared for her new life. She even had a new identity, for legal purposes.

Even as the loneliness leapt out at her when she thought about the four empty bedrooms and four bathrooms. Then there was the entertainment room in the basement the living area downstairs that would only see a modicum of what could be called liveliness, let alone actual living. The eerie silence and the palpable emptiness weighed on her almost as heavily as the guilt she felt trapped under.

With a glance at the table near the bathroom door, Aisha knew she could relieve one of those weights. She tapped the controls of the radio and the smooth deep voice of DJ Eddie Francis filled the room as he recapped the songs that she missed then announced the one that would start of the next R&B set.

She closed the door and disrobed. The familiar music relaxed her, though it could not rid her of the thoughts and questions racing through her head. The steam rising from the water carried the lightly floral scent of the bubbles that covered the surface. Sinking into the luxurious warmth, she found even that relaxing sensation lacked the power to chase away the weight. Even so, Aisha put conscious effort into letting go of the guilt and grief.


	34. Vicissitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aisha’s funeral has all of Stilwater in a tailspin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, again. Seems to be the nature of this piece. I can’t keep focus. Hoping now that things might be a little calmer and allow me a little more time to work on this piece.

**34 Vicissitude**

**-1-**

The entire city seemed to shut down that Tuesday. Shops were closed, some restaurants and bars were open, mostly those with televisions. Hell, even the church seemed quieter and more reverent than usual. Someone set up a small set in one of the alcoves and a large collection of Saints had gathered around it, piling into one corner of the sanctuary. Teeth chattered from the cold and in some cases from overly emotional responses to the televised funeral.

When Furia pulled up to the church, it took her a moment to find a spot. But she saw Julius’ purple pimp mobile. She’d figured he’d be there today. And, of course, she also noticed Troy’s Bootlegger, Mikey’s Ant, and several other vehicles she knew. Her chest tightened up as she swung her big orange beast into a parking spot. She considered her options for a moment, but climbed out and headed for the steps, which she skipped up.

Furia should have known better, but she needed to see Julius about Wong’s job. Slipping through the church door, she moved with care and quiet.  Relief washed over her when she managed to slip passed everyone without drawing anyone’s attention, especially from one keen set of hazel eyes.

Julius sat at that huge oak desk, seemingly oblivious to the sniffles and occasional sobs coming from the other room. She pushed the heavy door closed behind her without a sound, at least until she dropped the manila envelope on the corner of the desk with a brisk snap.

His hand dove under his coat as his dark eyes shot up to find her standing near the corner of his desk. A calculated smile crossed his mouth, and his posture relaxed at the same time. His hand fell back into his lap.

“What brings you by?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and eying her.

Furia opted for more information rather than making the boss ask twenty questions. Plus, she figured the longer she was the in the church the higher the chances that she might run into Troy. And that she would rather avoid, as chicken shit as it might be. 

“Brought you something from Mr. Wong. Got a call from him yesterday. He sent that,” she said with a tip of her chin as she dropped into the chair opposite him. Draping one leg over the other, Furia studied him. She wanted to see his reaction, gauge him, see if she could catch sight of what that damn nosy cop wanted her to see.

“Hmm,” he said, pulling the envelope toward him. After merely peeking into the envelope, he dropped it back on the desk in front of her with his own dramatic gesture. “If he gave it to you, I imagine you’re the one he wants.”

“I’m not a hitter, Julius.”

“Not what I hear. I hear you’ve become quite the marksman; developed quite a knack for this sort of thing.”

“I do _not_ have a _knack_ for it. Sometimes it just happens in the course of doing business.” She pushed the envelope back toward him.

The boss leaned on the desk, steepling his fingers just under his chin. The two of them stared at each other in a competitive silence. He broke first. “You took the job. It’s yours.” He sat back and returned to whatever he was writing down in that damnable notebook.

_Never write anything down_ , she thought, glaring at him.

“Is there something else I can help you figure out?” he asked, without even looking at her. Furia stood and turned, then Julius pushed the envelope toward her. “Don’t forget this.”

She snatched the file off the desk and clomped out of the office. She slammed the office door behind her as she stalked toward the nave. When she crossed it this time, attentions had been drawn by the loud behavior and footsteps that paired with her tense posture. Noticing Troy move, Furia looked away with a roll of her eyes.

The reaction drew her gaze to Marco, who walked toward her as well. Like always, he led with his crotch. Then he stretched his arms out as if he might just hug her, permission or no.

“This is so sad.” His hands clasped his chest over his heart and his chin dipped to his chest. “If you need a shoulder to cry on, I’m here for you, maracuyá”[i] the cad crooned.

Furia didn’t have the energy for all of this. Her eyes flicked toward Troy, then a horrible idea bloomed in her head. “Ugh! Fine. Vamanos,” she said, grabbing his hand and yanking him along with her.

Her anger and frustration ebbed, drowning her in a raging tide. Pushing through the door, she didn’t hear another word Marco said, but once they reached the street a voice cut through the reddish haze clouding her vision and her thoughts.

“Furia!”

“What?” she yelled back stopping and turning to glare at Troy. “What could you possibly fucking want?”

“What are you doing?” Troy asked, his tone quieter than it had been a moment before.

“Well, you see, jefe. I’m going to comfort the beautiful chica in her time of grief,” Marco injected, placing himself between them. His hand slid down his chest toward his belt buckle in a gesture that was meant to be seductive, perhaps, but he only managed to achieve creepy.

Furia just groaned and rolled her eyes with the turning of her head. Clearly, some kind of desperation had set in, one even she couldn’t see herself going through with. The crack of a punch called her attention back toward the church, her head snapping toward the incident like it was on a swivel. Troy shook his hand once as he looked at the lump of ego on the ground, then he stepped over Marco and his glass jaw to close the distance left between her and him.

“No amount of grief is worth that kind of torture,” he said, almost looking smug.

She pushed him and he stumbled back a step, surprise etched into his features. “Fuck you. Just fuck you,” she barked, pointing at the asshole on the ground. “What gives you permission to punch out a guy I’m with? While we’re at it what gives you the right to keep looking at me like that? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

 

**-2-**

The streets were empty. Stilwater resembled a ghost town that day. Even Furia dragging Marco out of the building went relatively unnoticed by the Saints in the church, who were more interested in the special presentation preempting every show in town than anything else happening around them.

For Troy, it meant there were no witnesses, no one to overhear her yelling at him. To see him knock out a fellow saint or notice the rest of his idiotic display.

“Nothing. No one,” he admitted far more quietly than she had made her accusations.

“You’re goddamn right,” she barked, swatting him with the envelope. “So, why won’t you back the fuck off? You’re just always—” she gestured incoherently between them “—here.”

Behind the wild gestures and loud voice, he could see it. That hurt, the hurt he caused. “I’m sorry.” He reached for her hand and she yanked it away.

“Just stop, okay? I don’t like games. And this back and forth shit is tiresome. I don’t have the time or energy for this bullshit anymore.”

“I know.”

“Fuck you, Troy!” She turned away, paced two steps then stopped, turned, and looked at him again. Troy couldn’t help but see a bright side in the fact she was still talking to him. “You know, huh? If you know, then why? Why do you keep just popping up?”

“So, I can apologize.”

“To hell with your apologies.”

Troy took a step forward, and Furia mirrored it, stepping back. He did it again and a third time, with the same result until there was nowhere else for her to back up to. She stumbled half a step when her hips hit the car, then she leaned against it like she meant to do just that.

“So, I can ask for another chance,” Troy said.

“You already had two,” she argued, her tone calmer and far quieter than it had been moments earlier.

“And I know I don’t deserve a third. But maybe the third time’s a charm.”

Furia didn’t look away, didn’t shy away from his gaze. “Or maybe you just think I’m a masochistic idiot.”

“I assure you, I don’t think that at all. I know you’re not an idiot.”

Her teeth pulled at her bottom lip, puckering the ruby red skin. “I hate games.”

“I’m not a fan either.”

“Then why? Why get close and keep walking away?”

“Clearly, _I am_ an idiot.”

“Bullshit!”

Troy sighed through his nose, staring at her. _She deserves the truth_ , he thought. “I thought it would be better to keep my distance.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“You said it yourself you didn’t want to be someone’s girl,” Troy explained. “And your brother’s threatened everyone who even looks at you sideways.”

“Screw Memo. And I don’t want to be someone’s girl.”

“Then what are we doing out here?” he asked. By sheer difference of height, Troy loomed over her. His palms itched to touch her, his lips tingled with the ghosts of kisses they’d shared in the past, but he didn’t dare make a move to do either.

“You’re looming, and I think you’re trying to convince me that you weren’t running scared.”

“Maybe I was.”

Furia’s head tipped toward her rising shoulder. Troy leaned a little closer, the tip of his nose just barely brushing against hers.

“You do this to me again and I’ll kill you.” Her voice had softened, her lips inching toward his, but honesty rang clear in the promise she made.

“I do this to you again, and I’ll give you my gun,” he told her, meaning it more than even he realized in the moment. He held her gaze, then finally apologized again. “I’m sorry I just walked out that night. Stupidly, I thought it for the best.”

“It wasn’t.”

“I know that now,” he said, inching closer. “Forgive me, please.”

The gentle pressure of her hand on his hip pushed some of the weight off his shoulders, but she made him wait. And he held that maddening distance, her nose brushing the tip of his as she tilted her head to the side.

“Te perdono,” she whispered.

He closed the distance on the seemingly correct assumption that she had forgiven him. Troy held her cheeks in his hands as he deepened the kiss. Warm relief washed through him. It didn’t chase away all the nerves, worries, or concerns, but it managed to shut the little critic in his head up long enough to savor the hint of vanilla that swirled around him. The kiss broke slowly.

When he found her gaze again, he brushed his thumbs over her wind-reddened cheeks. “I’m not a good man, Furia. You deserve better,” he admitted. He should have said it before he kissed her, he knew, but he hadn’t, maybe simply because he was selfish.

“Lucky for you, I’m not a good woman.” She stretched up on her tip toes and pressed another kiss to his lips. He disagreed, but before he could voice that opinion she started to slip from his hands “As evidenced by the fact that I’m taking home an envelope of a dozen names on a hit list.”

Troy’s brow furrowed. “What?”

A quiet, tired laugh escaped her. “Síp. Don’t worry. I can handle myself.”

“I’m not worried. I just … would have heard about something like that.”

“Except Mr. Wong called me personally.”

“It’s for Wong?”

Furia propped one hand on her hip and gave him an exasperated glance. “Are you really going to make me repeat everything I say, Troy? I mean I know I’m a hell of a kisser, but I’ve never made a man lose his sense of hearing from having my tongue in his mouth,” she said, wearing a sly grin.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Troy laughed, it genuinely shook his shoulders and brought a grin to his face. “Let me help.”

“I can handle it.”

“I have no doubt. But I’m offering to help. You don’t have to do all this alone, just to prove you can.”

Furia’s jaw shifted back and forth; he thought she might just be considering his offer. “You find someplace open and serving hot food and I’ll let you help me plan,” she offered before she walked to the door of her car.

Troy nabbed one more kiss for the road then dug his keys out of his pockets to do precisely what she asked.

“Umm, you might want to take Marco inside first,” she suggested before sliding behind the wheel of her car.

He glanced at the unconscious jerk on the sidewalk. “Yeah, maybe so.”

For a second, he considered the idea that an afternoon on the cold sidewalk might do the cad some good, but it would probably backfire. After a bit of struggle, Bradshaw managed to get Marco’s arm over his shoulder and all but drag him back into the nave. He deposited him in an empty pew out of the way before making his way back out to his car, to begin his search.

 

**-3-**

A gentle breeze rustled the leafless branches of the ancient trees that usually shaded the headstones of Stilwater’s oldest cemetery. The cloudless sky only made the brackish graying statues looming over the proceedings even more ominous. Bright lifeless eyes stared out from dark sockets as if measuring every mourner. Angels of all sizes perched with wings spread to catch the breeze and harps at the ready.

A sea of black, like a nest of well-dressed ants, meandered over the slushy ground following six men carrying a pristine white coffin. They lowered it gently and the mass of people congregated around a precisely dug hole in the ground. The flowers from the church appeared, as did the nearly life-sized photograph of Aisha, while family found seats and the other mourners found places to stand.

Johnny and the other pallbearers stepped back and stood at the foot of the coffin as Aisha’s childhood pastor, decked out in a black robe and a dour face stood at the head. The collar of his shirt seemed to cut into the side of his neck and his deep purple tie felt like it choked off at least half his air. He might be imagining it, but with every tense flex of his shoulders he was certain he heard stitches popping down his spine. Adjusting the jacket again, his eyes scanned the sea of faces. There were more people at her graveside than he imagined there should have been.

His jaw flexed tightly when his eyes tracked to the right side of the grave. The trio in black suits and ties with bright yellow shirts were surrounded by far too many people wearing the same shade. Ben King, Warren Williams, and Anthony Green stood behind Aisha’s family. King with his hands on her mother’s shoulders, as if consoling her. Gat didn’t notice the growl in his own throat until an elbow jabbed him in the side. Lamar’s eye twitched a little when the Saint looked over at him.

_It’s their fault, and here they are acting all broken up for the cameras and the crowds. Bastard_ , he thought as he stared _._ Johnny ripped his eyes away from King and his goons, trying to keep his gaze glued to the photo propped up on an easel on the other side of the grave. The white coffin sparkled and shone in the sunlight, giving him yet another viable reason for the tinted lenses he always wore.

It was the kind of winter day Aisha would have loved. The bright sun and cloudless sky almost allowed him to forget how cold it was. Christmas was just around the corner; and he knew that as hard as the last week had been on Aisha, it was only going to get more difficult.

He resolved then and there to get her a tree. Somehow, he vowed, he’d make sure the holiday wasn’t a total wreck. Maybe he could manufacture some way to get her a little taste of a family Christmas. His mind raced with ideas, as the pastor droned on and on, anew. It seemed everyone had a show to put on for the media frenzy.

Maybe they could all hit the mountains outside of town. Hide out in a secluded cabin. Or leave town. Or he could stuff them all in a windowless van, he thought. As his mind worked, he knew none of them were true plans, merely ideas—potentially objectionable ones at that. Plans weren’t Johnny’s thing. Action was. He was a doer. He made the plans work. Maybe Furia could help with a plan, or Troy, he wondered; they were good at that sort of shit.

The voice that rang through the crisp air broke through his distraction. Upon hearing her voice, his eyes darted around the graveside for a moment, as if he’d suddenly see her, then the realization struck—it was just a recording. One that was years old. As he listened, it took him back.

He could still remember that day. It was one of the first times he ever heard her sing. Hell, he’d only been in the church that day because she insisted that he come. He’d sat in the back of the church itching from head to toe as he shifted in the pew while she stood up there behind the preacher decked out in white, like an angel, he recalled fondly. When the pianist had started playing everyone around him broke out in a chorus of amens, others shaking their heads and holding their hands up, palms toward heaven. Then Aisha stepped out from the pack and when she opened her mouth, a shiver ran along every nerve in his body. It intensified as the rest of the choir joined in.

The recording could not produce the same effect. Her rich voice carried through the crowd, and over the somber graveyard, there was no other sound save for the words of _His Eye is on the Sparrow_ in her velvety smooth soprano. It was as if everyone, both around the grave and beyond the gates held their breath to hear her sing one more time.

Johnny knew things would never be the same. Even if the charred remains in that pristine pearly coffin did not belong to the woman he loved. That explosion changed things. This funeral changed things. Her death, real or not, changed … everything.

His finger slid under his collar pulling it away from his windpipe as he gulped down a deep breath as the minister called for everyone to bow their heads for another prayer. Johnny did as well, at first, then glanced back up at the picture. He just stared into the soft brown eyes he knew so well. With another amen, the service ended. Mourners walked past her mother and family, taking as many moments to share their grief with Aisha’s people before Tony took it upon himself to move them along.

A few people even stopped to shake Johnny’s hand, but he didn’t engage them. So, they moved along quickly on their own. For the most part, his eyes never moved from her picture. Though he did notice King, leaving the graveside arm and arm with Aisha’s mom. Despite that, Johnny didn’t move. He just stood there, and soon enough, he found himself mostly alone with that ostentatious white coffin.

Photographers still milled about. People beyond the gates stared, sniffled, and wailed.  Even so, he waited. Two men, who clearly had a process, took down the chairs at a fevered pace. Another pair handled the cranks that lowered the coffin into the ground. A scream tore through the still air, Johnny assumed it was one of the throng beyond the gates.

Another song started, but not in Aisha’s voice. It was slow and quiet, but built until it was recognizable. His head turned, brow furrowed at the writhing mass of bodies on the other side of the wrought iron fencing. The lyrics of _Don’t Fuck Me Like Your Wife_ floated through the still afternoon air _._

_What the hell?_ He shook his head at the crowd that seemed to be bobbing back and forth, like a sea.

Even though the funeral was all an act, the performance made Johnny’s heart ache. The decision came fast, like a comet streaking through the night sky. He needed to see her; convinced himself he needed to check on her for her own sake.

They’d all had no choice—Johnny, her brother and sisters, her mother, and friends—but to leave her alone that day. Given the way she’d been staring at the news lately, Johnny was nearly certain that she probably watched the whole thing on television.

His mind ran away with him. He could almost see her wrapped up on the sofa, staring at the TV in tears. That image solidified his desire into an unshakable need.

A long stride carried him through the dewy grass and left him with damp ankles. As he slid into his purple viper, he loosened the choking necktie of a similar shade. Not a moment later, the engine roared to life, only to lurch forward and fall into a crawl behind a long winding line of cars with blinking hazard lights on. He stabbed at a button on the dash and pulled his phone out of the glove box. A quick scroll and he had the number he needed.

“Does that ugly orange car of yours have a big trunk?” he asked as soon as the ringing stopped. He didn’t even wait for a hello.

_“¿Qué?_ ” she breathed heavily in his ear.

He ignored that. Irritation saturated his voice. “You heard me. I need you to move a body.”

“I thought you were at a funeral.”

“I was. Well, kind of still am.” He stared at the flashing taillights of the car in front of him, willing the line to move faster. Every second he wasted was one more she was along. “On second thought, that car of yours is too noticeable. Why’s the damn thing orange anyway?”

“That’s the color it was when I bought it, pendejo. What do you want?”

“Look, just find something suitably forgettable and meet me at my place in thirty minutes,” he barked. The severity of his tone shocked even him. He stabbed at the red button and dropped the phone in the passenger seat. She’d probably beat him to his place at this rate, he reasoned as his hands tightened around the steering wheel.

 

**-4-**

The afternoon light streamed through the windows onto the sparsely decorated living room. The coffee table held the remnants of Freckle Bitch’s and was strewn with photos and notes from Mr. Wong’s package; though a few photos and Troy’s notebook had been knocked to the floor.

Troy leaned back against the old sofa, a spring driving into his hip. He shifted a little and Furia, who was perched atop his hips, reached down with one hand to steady herself as he moved. She cast a stern look at him, as if she thought he was trying to toy with her while she was talking.

He could read it on her face. The call started with frenzied confusion and moved quickly toward the startling conclusion of the moment. It had all started innocently enough. Burgers, fries, and milkshakes—remembering her favorite flavor had earned him a sweet smile. They ate as they skimmed through the pictures and notes that Wong had provided. The old man was detailed, Troy gave him that. They had down the who and where, but also several of his hits included a when and with what. He wanted things done in an incredibly specific way, far beyond just take this guy out.

Of course, he also knew that there was some benefit to that. There wouldn’t be all that much to forensically tie the dozen or so hits together, at least. He’d quickly pulled together a list, and planned to make sure she had untraceable weapons for each to give her an extra measure of distance. Though he’d have to convince her to let him do that for her, which might be more trouble than actually getting his hand on all those guns.

“Johnny,” she said. Then she repeated his name a few times before looking at her phone. “Bastard hung up on me.” She stuffed the phone into her pocket then looked down at Troy.

“I really hate that fucking song,” he said, still breathing heavily. He flashed her a quick grin. If he had to guess, this distraction from planning a dozen murders was over.

“Me, too.” She leaned toward him, and Troy met her halfway. Her lips barely brushed his in a soft peck, as his hands encircled her waist again.

When she moved to get up, Troy refused to let go. “Where are you going?”

“Gat needs me to find a forgettable car and meet him at his place to move a body.”

Perhaps it was surprise at the revelation, but his grip loosened enough for her to get to her feet, albeit she moved with some reluctance of her own. “The fuck? Did he kill someone at the funeral?”

“Who knows?” Furia shrugged. She plucked his t-shirt off the end table and tossed it at him. “But it’s fucking Johnny. So, could be.”

“True enough, but now?”

She pulled her black and white checkered flannel shirt over her disheveled white tee, then she carefully tucked the undershirt back into her jeans. “Hey, I’m just a worker bee in this hive. I don’t say no when the big dogs bark.”

He knew she was right. If he had called anyone else and they didn’t jump at the chance of a job, he’d give them hell and get the other lieutenants to pile on extra shit work, too. Troy was just tired of always hearing Johnny’s fucking ringtone every time he had a second alone with her, especially right then, after finally seeking and somehow earning her forgiveness.

When she started to clean up the photos, he tried to discourage it. “I’ll take a look and I can divvy them out to some of the others.”

Furia straightened, photos in hand, and moved them about to realign them all. “No. Maybe Julius is right. Wong handed this to me.” She slid the photos into the brown envelope and closed the flap again. “I should take care of it.”

He wanted to snatch the envelope out of her hands. Tell her he’d take care of it personally. At that moment, seeing her resignation to jump into the deep end, he wanted to help, even if it broke every rule. He didn’t want to see her forced into this kind of corner. But something held him back, something always held him back—duty, cowardice, desperation, who knew?

“I can do this, you know?” she assured him. Maybe she read doubt on his face.

Troy got to his feet and closed the distance quickly. Hands coming to rest on her hips, he pulled her against him. That closeness comforted him, and he wanted to think maybe it did her as well. She leaned against him a little, her empty hand grazing his forearm. “Believe me, Furia. I know you can. If there’s anyone in this crew that can handle this on their own it’s you. You’ve already proven that fact a dozen times over.”

“Then why do you keep acting like I can’t?”

“That’s not my intention at all,” he replied, surprised that she misread him so completely.

“I’m not some delicate flower that needs to be put under glass, Troy. Never was.” She pushed at his chest with a hint of irritation.

He stared after her as she pulled away and crossed the room. “I don’t think that.”

“Then stop treating me like it.”

“I just wanted to help.”

“No. You wanted to see if you could get some,” she countered with a chill in her voice as she walked into her closet.

“No.” That had not been why he came over here.

“Yes,” she repeated, peeking out at him again, before disappearing from view again.

“That is _not_ why,” he repeated, leaning in the doorway of the sizeable closet.

“The erection you got while we were making out on my sofa, said otherwise,” she challenged, leaning against his chest as he blocked her path.

“And I’m guessing all that moaning you were doing in my ear meant you were completely disinterested.”

“Never said that.” Her fingers traced down the center of his still bare chest. “But I also never pretended that you were coming over to help.”

“Furia,” he said, trying on his serious voice. “Twelve guys is a lot. I really do want to help you with this. Even if all you’ll let me do is give you a hand with the logistics.” He brushed her hair over her shoulder, letting his fingertips ghost along her neck. “As for the other. Can you really blame me? Beautiful, brilliant woman. All those sly smiles. The brushes of fingertips and leaning over and against one another. Then there were those kisses. God, those lips,” he teased, leaning toward her. “No surprise, I let myself get distracted.”

Her finger played with the divot at the base of his throat. Her look and her voice softened as a gentle smile curved her lips and made her hazel eyes twinkle. “Bien. I like distracting you.”

“Well,” Troy said, huffing a laugh, “you’re very good at it.”

“I’m good at all sorts of things, Troy,” she purred. The way she said it made him want to learn about every single one. Then she ducked beneath his arm and slipped past him to grab her jacket off the chair. “Can I borrow your car?”

It took him a moment to shift gears again. “To move a body?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not actually what he meant.”

“It’s Johnny.”

Furia shrugged. “And why would he need my help moving a body? Ever? And why today?”

Troy thought she might be onto something, but still it was Johnny Gat they were talking about. “Sure,” he relented.

“Gracias.” She pecked him quickly then pointed out where her keys were and told him to help himself to anything in the fridge, that she’d be back. Troy just stood there in her living room, staring at the door as she closed it behind her.

She’d stashed away the envelope and he wasn’t about to go rummaging through her closet for it. So, he refilled his glass with water and settled onto her lumpy hand-me-down sofa to catch a bit of the news. Being there alone in her place grew more awkward by the moment. The last time he’d been here he and Memo had been waiting to figure out if she was even alive.

Then when she did show up … Troy shook his head. _Not bringing that up again_ , he told himself. _The past is passed. Won’t help to dredge it up. Best to let it lie._ Besides, he hadn’t known what he was doing then, and only barely knew now … maybe.

* * *

 

[i] Maracuyá: passion fruit


	35. Keys to the City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aisha’s death seems to be affecting her negatively. Troy is still feeling pulled between his life undercover and his position on the force, especially with his handler pushing for Bradshaw’s help to cultivate snitches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience with my updating. I will be working on Nanowrimo in November 2017 so there likely won’t be an update until the New Year. Apologies in advance.

**35 Keys to the City**

**-1-**

The sun still painted the horizon in oranges and pinks, but for the most part night had taken hold in Stilwater. Neon buzzed, street lamps spilled pools of light on potholed streets, and the alley behind Johnny’s building was dark as ass when he pulled into the spot he claimed near the back door. A hint of a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. He’d been right. Furia would and did beat him there, and by the looks of it she had been waiting there for him for quite some time. She was perched on the side of the hood looking more than a little irritated.

Even so, he took his sweet ass time pulling into his favorite spot before he sauntered across the alley. “You know, I’ve never seen anyone able to talk Troy out of his keys as easy as you.”

“What can I tell you? I’m charismatic as hell. I can talk anyone into just about anything,” she replied, hopping down and looking up at him. “So, we doing this, or not?”

Her desire to get right to business made him just want to harry her more. “Oh, I’m sure you used that mouth, but I doubt there was much talking.”

“Vete ala puta verge[i], mamón[ii].” Furia lunged at him.

Johnny just laughed as he blocked the punch she threw and pulled her against him. “Ever heard that saying?” he chuckled as she pushed him away. They both shifted back a step.

She looked like she could spit nails. No wonder half the guys in the crew were trying to get into her pants. There was something intriguing about the combination of her kind of passion and power.

“Chingate guey[iii],” she said, throwing her hand in the air. “You got work or not?”

“Methinks she doth protest too much.”

That stopped her rant and that pissed off look took a curious bent.

“Yeah, I read Shakespeare. What of it?” Johnny told her.

She just shrugged, but at least she didn’t look like she wanted to stab him anymore. “You said forgettable. Do you have any idea how many black Bootleggers there are in this city? Too damn many,” she shot back in a more sensible tone.

Johnny gestured toward the car. “Open the trunk.” She rounded the vehicle and he stopped near the rear, watching her. “I still say Troy either really wants to get a taste or your sucking his dick. I’m mildly curious to know which?”

After releasing the trunk latch, Furia gave him the kind of look one might get from a librarian for being all raucous in the library. “You’ll have to ask Troy about the first, but I’m not sucking anyone’s dick.” It was true enough, even if she could have made an assumption about Bradshaw’s interests. Of course, even so she wanted to believe he didn’t let her nick his keys just for that reason alone. “Now, where’s this thing you need me to move.”

“Right here,” Gat said, smoothing his hand down his chest and giving her a wink as his thumb hooked in his waistband, his fingertips grazing his fly.

“Seriously? You dragged me out in the damned cold, made me promise a favor because my car is too orange, and for what?”

“Sexual favors?” he asked, leaning toward her and waggling his eyebrows.

“Carajo. Would you get your mind off my pussy?”

He just gave her another salacious glance. “Easier said than done. I assure you.”

“I’m out. Call Marco or someone else whose sex life is more interesting than mine. They’ll indulge your dirty, little mind, I’m sure,” she said as she walked toward him and put her hand on the trunk to close it.

“Damn, you can be a kill joy. Clearly, we have to get you laid more. You’re too cranky. Need to release some of that pent-up aggression.”

“Johnny.”

Damn, he hated and kind of liked the way she said his name like a librarian trying to shush him. No matter how much it kind of tingled along his nerves, his tone went serious. “I need you to drive me somewhere.”

“In the trunk?” she asked, her brow furrowing over her hazel eyes.

Johnny stared at her for a long time, willing her to read his mind. “I need to check in. With everything going on, you know?” His voice quieted and the playfulness sobered.

He could see the realization wash over her face as the scowl loosened and Furia sighed. “I get it. Where am I going?”

He pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and handed her the garage door opener as well. “Just pull into the garage. And you’ll have to wait.”

Another sigh. “Of course, I will.”

“You got something better to do?” he snapped.

She straightened, clearly bristling. “How could that possibly ever be the case?” she said smartly, returning to the driver’s door of the car.

Johnny climbed in the trunk and pulled it closed.

He didn’t know what was eating her, but clearly something was amiss. Of course, that thought derailed after the first turn. The force of the tight right shifted things in the trunk. A heavy metal box hit him in the back of the head. Gat swore and pounded on the back of the seat.

“Calm the fuck down! This ain’t a damn race.”

Her reply seemed to come with a hard, braking maneuver that rolled him into the back of that same seat.

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck you, too,” he grumbled. The volume on the radio increased. “At least, it’s a good song.” He doubted that she heard his statement, but it didn’t really matter. He leaned his head back on one hand and tried to relax, but Furia seemed bound and determined to make that impossible.

Between the sharp turns, rapid accelerations, and the way she slammed on the brakes at every opportunity combined with the loose junk in Troy’s trunk, Johnny was certain he was going to climb out trunk bruised to high hell. Eesh would probably think he got into a fight.

The third time something crashed into his head, he resolved to tell Troy to clean out his trunk the next time he ran into him.

When the car slowed, Gat assumed that meant they were pulling up the drive. It was confirmed when it stopped and crept forward slowly. He shifted in anticipation of the trunk opening, but this time Furia took her sweet ass time, perhaps paying him back for the alley.

She grinned at him as she lifted the deck lid. “There you go, one body delivered safe and sound.” When he climbed out he realized what had taken so long. She’d backed in and waited for the garage door to close, before opening the trunk.

“Might have to take issue with the sound part,” he grumbled.

“You’re still in one piece.

“Do you always drive like that?”

“Sí. Always.” She lifted one shoulder, then reached up and slammed the trunk lid.

Johnny just chuckled. “I’ll be back shortly,” he told her as he entered the house.

With the click of the door behind him, an acrid smell wrinkled his nose—a mix of smoke and melted plastic. It shifted everything about his mood and piqued his concern. He passed through the kitchen, noticing the smoke alarm hanging precariously from the ceiling. Peeking in the sink, he found singe marks along with traces of ash and some blackened gunk. That was a worry for another day, he decided, and continued his search for Aisha.

Just in case she was sleeping, Johnny didn’t call out. He wouldn’t want to wake her if she was finally resting. Finding her in the bedroom, he held out hope that she just might be asleep. Of course, that was too much to hope for, he realized when he noticed a glint from the bottle in her arms as the television flickered with images from her funeral earlier in the day.

“Why are you watching this?” he asked, tapping the power off on the remote. The room was completely bathed in darkness thanks to some really powerful black out curtains. He felt for the edge of the bed and heard rustling just before the light on the bedside table flashed on and blinded him for a second.

She didn’t answer the question, though she did sit up a little when he climbed onto the bed. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was small, so unlike the woman he’d known for what seemed like forever.

“Came to see you.” Johnny coaxed the bottle out of her hand and set it on the nightstand.

“I thought you couldn’t risk it.”

He laughed quietly as he draped his arm over her shoulders.

“You smell like gasoline,” she told him, looking up into his face, but not pulling away.

“That’s because Troy needs to clean out his trunk.”

“What?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” Johnny chuckled. “Plus, you’ve been alone too much lately.” He petted her hair and pressed a kiss to her temple. “I wish I could stay all night.”

“Why don’t we just watch a movie?” she suggested. She climbed over him and grabbed the remote. “I think I saw one of those kung fu movies you like when I was flipping through the channels earlier.”

It felt amazing to have her in his arms. He knew something was bothering her, but he didn’t push. He’d give her the hour or, so she was asking for. Having her arms wrapped around him did his heart as much good as it seemed to do hers, but having to sneak out of her sleeping embrace stung. Johnny couldn’t stay; or at least he couldn’t force Furia to spend the entire night in the garage and if she left, he’d be stranded. It’d ruin everything if anyone but a carefully chosen few saw him at that house, in that neighborhood.

 

**-2-**

According to the news, the Stilwater P.D. investigation into the explosion downtown remained steadfastly focused on finding the source of the explosives. That seemed to be their plan for linking the event to whoever mastermind it. Troy stared at the screen as the reporter went on and on about the city’s outrage at the lack of leads, the frustration of the politicians, who were all tossing in their two cents and announcing their outrage over the act. It was no surprise to find that one trunk full of explosives could pull so precisely at the already frayed seams of a city on the verge of devouring itself. Even the politicos were at one another’s throats in the aftermath, all accusing one another of not being angry enough or outraged enough.

He knew something, somewhere would have to give. It had to. Sitting in her apartment, he felt certain he could guess what it was going to be. They’d make this about the gangs, and it was. The Vice Kings pretended at legitimacy, the Rollerz used their racing rigs to affect their criminal activity, the Los Carnales were in bed with the Colombians, and the Saints were moving in on everyone’s rackets. They were the perfect targets.

Troy chewed at his bottom lip as the news anchor droned on and on. That voice popped back in his head for a moment. He shouldn’t be there. When it all hit the fan, and it would; he wouldn’t be able to save her, at least not the way things were going. The deeper she dug in, the less chance that she might escape the inevitable relatively unscathed.

The questions flooded back, along with the accusations. He couldn’t stop them from coming, but he could, he knew, keep them from pushing him out the door again.

At one point, he opened a few kitchen cabinets to find a glass, which he filled with water from the tap. The last thing he wanted her to think was that he had snooped anywhere while she was gone, though his palms itched to get his hands on that envelope again. If he were honest with himself, he wanted to do more than get a glimpse of it. He wanted to take it off her hands completely—hand those jobs off to anyone else in order to keep her hands clean.

The urge just made him more irritated with himself. He punched the counter, watching the ripple play across the surface of the water in the glass. He wanted to protect, but knew that the one person he’d never be able to protect her from was herself, and that was only if he could manage to keep her safe from any other part of the storm heading for Stilwater’s underbelly.

When his phone vibrated in his pocket, Troy yanked it out hoping it was her. Instead, it was a text from Wayne’s Wings—it’s what he stored his handler’s number under.

_WW: We need to meet._

With a sigh Troy tapped out his reply. _TB: About?_

_WW: Explosives._

_TB: When?_

_WW: Five am. Our usual spot._

_TB: Not sure I can make that._

_WW: Find a way._

_TB: I’ll try_.

He wasn’t about to promise something he didn’t know he could deliver. Also, he knew he couldn’t show up to meet his handler driving Furia’s orange beast. That car was quickly becoming one of the most recognizable in the city, mostly with the racing set, which meant vice probably knew who it belonged to as well. That risk he wouldn’t take. So, he left his attendance uncertain.

Troy deleted the conversation and slipped his phone back into his pocket as a knock rang through the empty room. He hurried across to the door and reached for the lock, before he thought better of it. What if it was someone looking for Furia?

“Open the door.”

The familiar lilt of her voice made him smile, but the memory of the text conversation he’d just had instantly coiled his stomach into a tight knot. Even so, he pulled the door open.

She ducked past him and fell onto the sofa with a gusty sigh. With a heavy thud and the click of the lock he shut the door, Troy grinned at the way she splayed herself across the cushions.

“That’s got to be the quickest body dump in history,” he said with a laugh. He slipped onto the corner of the couch and pulled her legs over his.

She tipped her chin to her chest and grinned at him. “It wasn’t quite what it seemed.”

“Do tell.”

“He just needed a ride.” Furia sat up, leaning against the back of the couch as her fingers brushed through the short hair just above his ears.

Troy thought she might just kiss him, then she jingled his keys between them. “So, why’d he put it like that?” Troy asked, grabbing them off her finger and stuffing them into his pocket.

Furia shrugged. “He needed to go somewhere without the damn press following him. There was a mass of them outside his place,” she explained. “And just a heads up, he’ll probably complain about all the shit you keep in your trunk tomorrow.”

His brows drew tight over his eyes. Furia’s bubbly laugh whirled around them as she stroked his cheek. “I took him to see her,” she whispered.

“In my trunk?”

One shoulder inched upwards in a half shrug. “And he might have been a dick.”

This time Troy chuckled. “Which means you made the most of the drive.”

Her eyes were glued to her thumb as it crept over his bottom lip with a tempting light touch. “Maybe a little.” Her gaze flicked back up to meet his and she inched closer.

Troy didn’t think about it before he closed the distance between them, he just did it. Just kissed her. He didn’t let the threat of Johnny lecturing him about the loose tools in his trunk or the text with Markovson invade that moment.

The kiss broke far sooner than he would have liked even though he was the one who pulled away. Her breath was as labored as his own.

“It’s getting late. Or early,” he said, his voice quiet. He traced the edge of her jaw with his thumb as her hazel eyes darted toward the window and back. Light wasn’t streaming into the room, but in a glance, it was clear that the sun was inching towards the horizon of Stilwater.

“Yeah, it is,” she agreed. There was a caution in her tone, one that made him wonder, even worry a little.

“I should probably—” Despite his attempt, he couldn’t come up with a valid sounding reason to leave.

“I need to shower,” she said, offering him an out. “And I think Johnny has plans for me today.” Her teeth puckered her bottom lip.

“Late night body dump and an early morning outing?”

“What can I say?” she said, grinning smugly. Her shoulder rose just a hair with the tip of her head. “I’m really popular.”

“Yeah. I can see that,” Troy agreed, his own smile far too wide and knowing.

Her hands on his cheeks were quite warm. She pulled his lips closer and pressed a less than chaste kiss to his mouth. “I’ll see you later.” The words came out somewhere between a statement and a question.

“Of course,” he answered. He didn’t want to leave; couldn’t think of any place he’d rather be than trapped beneath her legs with her lips on his. Alas, it was not to be. Not right then. “Maybe we can work out some plans for that task of yours tonight.”

“I can grab some Thai before they close,” she suggested as he got to his feet.

“Sounds good.”

“Let’s say about ten,” she suggested.

“Late dinner it is.” Troy leaned over and kissed her again. _Just one more kiss_ , he told himself as if trying to bribe himself to walk out the door. “Try to get some rest.”

“Okay, Mom.” Her laughter widened his smile, but he took the hint behind the jab and left. Walking out of her apartment this time felt equally harder and easier than the last time he left. At least now, he thought as he trotted down the stairs, he stood a chance of being let back in.

 

**-3-**

Markovson stirred his coffee cup absently as he stared out the window. The department’s focus on the explosion at Kingdom Come Records brought with it a mounting sense of tension throughout every branch of investigations. Vice wasn’t only being pressured for more movement in respect to the gangs task force, but they also had the brass breathing down their necks to find out if this was part of the mounting tensions between the city’s underworld.

“If you’re not careful, the coffee will dissolve that spoon,” Troy said by way of greeting. As the undercover officer fell into the bench seat across from the detective, he pulled the second cup, black and still steaming toward him and took a sip.

He winced a bit and shook his head. Bradshaw didn’t remove the ball cap pulled low over his eyes or the hoodie that hid his shaggy auburn hair. He could see a hint of a purple collar beneath the sweatshirt.

“You’re late.”

“Told you I’d try,” he reminded. “You’re lucky I made it at all with the amount of notice you gave me.”

“Yeah well. It is what it is,” Markovson replied, without an ounce of sympathy for his partner.

Heels clacked against stained linoleum as the waitress approached their table. “What can I get you fellas?” she asked in a uniquely southern drawl. Somehow, she managed to get the words out between pops of the gum smacking between her teeth.

Troy ducked his head toward his cup, further concealing his face. Markovson, however, turned a polite smile toward her. “Just bring me a piece of pie.”

“It’s five AM, honey.” Her scolding tone made the moment that much more uncomfortable.

“Then just bring me the special.” The detective didn’t care what he had to order to get her to disappear again, so he could finish his conversation.

“So, what do you want?” Troy asked, impatience showing.

“I need you to do your job,” Markovson snapped. “Your leads on the explosives were crap. Now, we’ve got reports of people hitting local garages and walking out with thousands of dollars’ worth of high-end parts.”

“The Saints don’t deal in that stuff. That’s the Rollerz turf.”

“A few months back I’d have agreed with you, except one of their fronts got hit, too.”

His partner’s gaze locked onto his own.

“You know it’s starting to look pretty bad that our carefully placed UC isn’t aware of what his own people are doing.”

“I don’t run every crew in this gang. How could I know every single move?” Bradshaw challenged.

Markovson agreed, and he’d told his superiors something similar when they jumped down his throat about some of the recent activity.

“Isn’t this what the brass wanted?” Troy asked, interrupting Markovson’s consideration of him. “The Saints pushing back, pushing the others out.”

Neither of them said anything, they just stared. “In part, you’re also supposed to be building cases on these people.”

“I am, and I have, multiple times over.”

“Not on everyone. There are some new faces rising in the ranks. I haven’t seen anything come across my desk on them.”

The mug rose between them again. “Like I said, if they aren’t on my crew I don’t always know what people are doing.”

“That excuse isn’t going to fly for long, Bradshaw. Vice has people they are looking at. People they have approached.”

“Approached?” he asked, his voice breaking above the mark of a conspiratorial whisper.

He took note of the surprise on Troy’s face before it faded back to a measured calm. His partner was in deep. And he understood Troy’s previous outbursts—the department was hanging a heavy weight around his neck. This new tactic might just take some of the pressure off, or so he hoped. Troy was too good a cop to lose it all in this, or at least that was Markovson’s opinion. “They’ve propositioned a few people that have popped up on our radar. We’re trying to put feelers out. See who might be interested in talking,” he explained.

The younger man shook his head, rubbing his hand over his brow under the rim of his cap. “Not smart. If they tip our hand,” he shook his head. The implication hung between them. They both knew that one person letting the wrong thing slip and it could all lead back to Troy’s feet—it could spell more than just an end to their undercover operation.

“No one is tipping anything. We’re just covering all the bases.”

Troy sighed, both his hands wrapping around the mug of black coffee. “If the Saints are hitting garages, then it’s probably one of Dex’s crews—they have the best network of fences. Or it could be something Lin has going, but I haven’t heard anything on that front. I can’t even guess why she’d have her people running up on the Rollerz like that.”

The waitress’ footsteps clicked toward their table again, both men falling silent. She set the plate down in front of Markovson.

Troy took her presence as a chance to bail. He stood and tossed a crumpled bill on the table, saying “Keep the change,” in a lower than usual voice as he started for the door.

The detective didn’t argue or call after him. “Thanks,” he said politely to the waitress, who just snapped her gum at him once more and sashayed off.

Markovson felt his position just as precariously as Troy seemed to. Though he knew that Bradshaw’s position was far more tenuous than his own, neither of them were entirely safe from ripples moving through Stilwater after that bomb went off. It seemed like everything had been thrown into the air in those aftershocks, and Markovson wasn’t sure where things would fall.

* * *

 

[i] Go fuck yourself / Fuck you, dick.

[ii] Fuckhead / Insolent douchebag

[iii] Fuck yourself, asshole


End file.
